Kaleidoscope
by Ennya
Summary: After a late shift, Michaela takes the bus home. Little does she know that the bus will be hijacked, and all on board will become hostages in the new scheme devised by the Clown Prince of Crime. Post TDK.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yeah I'm writing a TDK fic, can't help it.

*I do not own Batman or any of the Batman characters. I do not make any money writing this story.*

Kaleidoscope

Chapter One

~*~

As soon as she closed up and locked the door to the office behind her, Michaela pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number as she stomped down the dark, deserted hallway towards the lobby. In her ear, the line rang twice and then Roger picked up; a dead giveaway that he was waiting up for her.

"Hey, it's me." Michaela said in a tired yet cheerful voice. "I just finished up."

She could hear the TV on the other end of the phone, and Roger made an exasperated sound. "Jeez, took long enough. Whose shift were you covering?"

"Jamie's." Michaela answered as she juggled her phone and her bag around as she tried awkwardly to put her coat on.

"I say we hunt her down and kill her." Roger said matter-of-factly, as though he were dead serious.

Michaela grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

It did sound like a plan; she was only scheduled to work until four in the afternoon but then Jamie called in complaining of cramps and so Michaela had to stay until 8:00 pm, something she hadn't done since she first started working at the agency. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah," He said, and she heard the volume on the TV in the background become quiet, like he was turning it down. Sounded like a football game. "I saved you some pizza."

Michaela walked into the lobby and raised her hand to wave goodbye to Marv, the security guard; he waved back and buzzed her through the front doors. "Ohh, pizza, how nutritious."

"It_ is_ nutritious," Roger stated, as if he'd swear his life on pizza. "It's got like _all_ the food groups in it; it's probably one of the most nutritious foods ever."

"Really." Michaela said, but she wasn't asking, she had heard this spiel about pizza being the best food before. She wandered across the plaza towards the bus stop on the sidewalk. There was no one else waiting at the lit-up bus stop, but a quick scan of the street showed her there weren't any louts around that might cause trouble. She figured she'd be all right.

"So where are you at?" Roger asked.

Michaela walked towards the bus stop and looked up at the bright red sign. It read GOTHAM TRANSIT: ROUTE 58. She stepped in under the lights and dropped her bag on the bench. "I'm at the bus stop."

"This time of night you're taking the bus?" She could detect the alarm in his voice, even if he was trying to hide it a little. "Want me to pick you up?"

Michaela held her arms to her chest in an attempt to warm herself up a little. "No, you're twenty minutes away."

"Well I can come pick you up," Roger said somewhat anxiously. "I mean it's dangerous, that area, this time of night."

Michaela smirked, looking down the street to where the bus was sure to be coming from. Sure this area had been dangerous in the past, but there were areas in downtown Gotham a lot worse than this one. "Yeah, think I'll see the Batman?"

There was a pause. "Maybe." He responded with a lilt of interest in his voice.

It'd be almost six months since they had heard or seen anything of the Batman. Allegations about who the Batman was had appeared all over the television, they interviewed all the specialists and psychologists in the city, trying to uncover the mystery. They tried to bait people with money for tips on who the Batman might have been, but no one seemed too interested. City officials claimed that crime rates had doubled since everyone thought the Batman had disappeared, but there was still enough fear on the street to keep the criminals in their place.

After he had supposedly killed Harvey Dent, it was like Batman had fallen off the face of the earth, never to be seen again.

Another minute went by and then Michaela noticed the bus coming slowly down the road, flashing ROUTE 58 from its sign above the windshield. She reached for her bag to pull out her city pass. "The bus is here, I gotta go."

Roger made another noise over the phone, like he still wasn't comfortable about the idea of her riding the bus this late at night. "I'll pick you up at the station, okay?"

Michaela stepped out onto the sidewalk, watching and waiting patiently as the big red bus approached. "Okay, that sounds good."

"See you in a bit." Roger said.

"Okay, bye." Michaela said, and then hit call end on her phone just as the bus lurched to a stop in front of her. She waited a moment, pass in hand, as the doors opened and she stepped up, flashing the driver her pass. Curiously enough though, the driver didn't even look over to acknowledge her.

"Hello." Michaela said in greeting.

"Evening." Came the grumbled reply from the driver, but he still wouldn't look at her. She couldn't even see his face from the shadow of his cap.

She moved onto the bus, taking in the people that she passed. She was surprised, there were about twenty people on the bus, and most of them looked like they were late night workers from around the area, going home after a long night at work, just like her. A few of them looked up at her as she passed them, but for the most part everyone looked pretty tired. Michaela found an empty seat about midway through the bus and collapsed down onto it, leaning up against the window and sighing in content to get off her feet. Her shoes were killing her.

With a rumble, the bus started up and began to move down the streets of Gotham. Michaela pulled her feet up onto the seat, despite the looks she was getting from the lady across the aisle from her, and she huddled back into her coat for warmth. She was secretly so happy that Roger was going to pick her up at the station; she really didn't feel like walking that extra fifteen minutes, especially not in these shoes and not at this time of night.

Michaela hadn't realized how exhausted she was; working double shifts was a lot harder than she thought. When she first got the call that Jamie wasn't coming in, she figured it would be no biggie, but in truth if Jamie ever asked her to cover the late shift again, Michaela would probably say no.

Her stomach growled and Michaela shifted to get more comfortable. She sure liked the sound of that pizza right about now.

Just as she was started to doze, she heard the familiar ding of a customer who wanted the next stop. Not bothering to open her eyes, she waited for the bus to come to a rolling stop and let off whoever it was that wanted off. She wondered what kind of pizza Roger had ordered. Knowing him and his carnivore tendencies, he had gotten the ultra-meat lovers, and that sounded perfect. With pizza, a nice cold beer and a boyfriend to keep her warm, it was going to be the perfect end to a shitty day.

After a few moments, however, she suddenly heard a woman say: "Hey driver, you missed my stop! …Driver?"

The bus continued to roll on, and there wasn't a response from the driver. Michaela sleepily opened her eyes, wondering if she had really heard that, or if she had dreamt it.

A gentleman closer towards the front leaned out into the aisle, gripping the bar in front of him. "Driver, you missed her stop! Didn't you hear?" He shouted in a tired, angry voice.

There was a moment of silence, and then the driver replied. "Oh, I heard."

Michaela blinked her eyes sleepily and gripped the bar on the seat in front of her to ease herself up to a sitting position. As she looked around, she noticed that the other passengers were getting increasingly agitated. She looked behind her and noticed the passengers were looking at each other with baffled looks on their faces. She looked out onto the street and noticed that they were pulling off the road, and off route.

Then, much to her surprise, a man at the very front of the bus hoisted himself out of his seat and pulled a gun out of a bag in front of him. Michaela heard a woman scream as he fired a few shots into the ceiling of the bus, presumably to get everyone's attention. Michaela froze, looking at the man with the gun. He was wearing a plastic mask, crudely painted in the face of a clown.

Michaela felt her breath catch in her chest.

"Everyone this is a hijacking!" Screamed the masked gunman through his mask. "So sit down and shut up!"

Michaela heard a woman behind her whimpering; many of the other passengers were trying to keep from screaming, but for the most part the bus had gone dead quiet. Michaela knew that she herself wouldn't even be able to peep.

"Oh my god…" came a hushed whisper from somewhere behind her.

"Where are you taking us?!" Came a desperate plea from a terrified woman in the back.

"_Hey_!" The gunman raised the gun and everyone gave out cries of fear and cowered in their seats, trying to hide their faces behind the seats in front of them, just as Michaela did. "I said _shut up_ back there!"

Michaela swallowed thickly, watching the gunman at all times. She figured that if she just stayed quiet and maybe stayed out of sight as much as she could, she wouldn't draw any attention to herself. She could hear someone start to cry behind her, and a man was whispering hurriedly, but it wasn't clear to whom he was whispering. Michaela wondered maybe, if she moved real slowly, she could reach her cell phone and dial 911.

Just as she thought this, the gunman reached over and pulled the duffel bag up by its straps. He then proceeded to walk down the aisle. "Now everyone, all of you, gimme your phones! I want every single cell phone on this bus!"

He began with the folks up front, who nervously reached into their pockets or their bags and pulled out their phones to deposit into the duffel bag. With a shaky breath and even shakier hands, Michaela reached into her purse and searched frantically for her phone, thinking that maybe if she dialed really quickly the call would go through in time.

"Come on, come on, give it here!" the gunman growled, harassing one of the ladies up towards the front, who whimpered in fear as she forfeit her cell phone.

Michaela found her phone and clasped it tightly between her hands, watching the gunman carefully. He was two seats away from her, would that be enough time? She figured it would have to do; there was no time to lose. She looked down at her touchpad and tried to dial 911 but her fingers were so shaky she could barely apply the right pressure to the keys.

She looked up to watch the gunman and suddenly saw a man, who had already given up his phone, stand up and grab the gunman from behind, hooking an arm around his neck and trying to grab his gun with the other hand. The gunman let out a cry of great annoyance, and fired several times as they struggled. Michaela gasped and ducked her head, listening to the screams of everyone around her as more shots were fired. She heard the driver scream something, but it was hardly audible over the screams and the sound of the struggle. Finally Michaela raised her eyes just as the gunman pushed his attacker back into one of the bars, _hard_, and the man let out a groan of pain and let go of the gunman, who then spun on his heels and pointed the barrel of the gun into the man's chest.

Michaela heard a scream erupt all around her as she gunman shot his attacker three times in the chest. As she watched the blood appear on his clean white shirt, and watched his knees fail as he doubled over, she screamed again, just as the passengers behind her were screaming.

The gunman, now officially pissed off, looked towards the back of the bus and rose the gun. The screaming stopped. "All right, anyone else wanna be a hero? _Hmm?_"

Michaela was breathing erratically and shook harder with more fear than ever before as the gunman approached her and held open the duffel bag, his gun pointing right at her thigh. Michaela closed her eyes and let out a little whimper as she gathered all her strength and threw her phone into the depths of the duffel bag. And then the gunman was gone.

She covered her mouth with her hand and she realized she was going to start crying. Looking up, she saw the poor man shot to death lying motionlessly on the bus floor, a big pool of blood surrounding him, and she felt her stomach churn. She squeezed her eyes shut and sat back in her seat, rocking back and forth.

Once the gunman had gathered all the cell phones, he stomped back up to the front, carefully stepping over the dead body, to talk to the driver. "How much longer?"

"Almost there." The driver mumbled.

"Good," The gunman said, and going back to the duffel bag he produced a handful of long, black scarves. Without hesitation, he started throwing them at the passengers he passed. "Put these blindfolds on!" He commanded as he threw one at Michaela. It landed in her lap but she regarded it as if it were an eel; she didn't even want to touch it.

"Put these blindfolds on!" The gunman demanded again. "I see anyone without a blindfold, and they get _shot_."

Swallowing hard, Michaela reached for the blindfold with her clammy hands and picked it up. She looked up out the window to the street, but all she could see was darkness. She took a deep breath and tied the blindfold up around her eyes, cutting out her vision, and tying it securely at the back. She figured at least this way she wouldn't be able to see the dead body, and she wouldn't have to look at the crudely painted mask on the gunman.

Someone behind her was definitely crying, but for the most part the bus was eerily quiet. She could hear the gunman pace up and down the aisle of the bus, tensing as his heavy footsteps came closer and closer to her and finally passed her. She anxiously chewed on her bottom lip as she waited for something to happen, _anything _to happen.

"Where are you taking us?!" Came the anxious demand of someone in front of her.

"Hey _shut up_!" The gunman yelled, rocking the bus and making Michaela physically jump in her seat. She gathered her purse in her arms and cradled it close to her body, trying to calm down.

She thought of Roger, Roger who had waited up late for her and saved her pizza for dinner and was probably waiting for her now at the train station, wondering where the bus was. He was probably calling her phone, wondering where the hell she was. Again she fought hard to keep the tears back. The last thing she needed now was to show these men that she was frightened, which she really, really was.

The bus rumbled on in silence, and despite the few soft cries and whimpers from the other passengers, the bus was fairly quiet. Michaela curled her fingers into her bag over and over, trying to maintain her breathing and telling herself that everything was going to be okay…everything was going to be okay…

Finally, after what seemed to be a decade of riding the bus blind and scared, the driver mumbled something. "We're here."

Another five minutes and the bus made a right hand turn and rolled to a gentle stop. Everyone on the bus made curious sounds and noises, but were instantly quiet when the gunman started talking. "All right, everybody up! Single file, out the door, come on!"

Michaela wanted to mention that it was pretty hard to do so when you were blindfolded, but she wasn't even going to breathe a word. She took the bar in front of her in her hands and carefully hoisted herself up. She moved slowly into the aisle, bumping into someone in front of her, and she waited until they started to move.

"Come on, let's move it!" Came the voice of the gunman, and Michaela tried to hurry but she was worried about her footing with the blindfold on. Suddenly she heard the woman in front of her let out a little cry of disdain, and then she literally ran forward. Michaela stepped forward as carefully as ever and grimaced as her shoe touched something solid. It was the body.

Michaela gasped, but then someone grabbed her upper arm and forced her forward, over the dead body, towards the door to the bus. She fought the urge to vomit when the overwhelming scent of blood flooded her nostrils and she pushed herself out of the door once she figured out where it was. She only hoped there wasn't blood on her shoes.

Another person grabbed her arm and forced her to speed up. She stumbled over her feet, clutching her bag and trying not to say anything or make a noise. Whoever it was that had taken her arm suddenly pushed her forward, up against another person. She gasped and straightened herself up so she would stand, and then she heard doors closing. Five seconds later she felt the unmistakable lurch upwards of an elevator. She took in a deep breath as she sensed she was crammed in the elevator with several others of the bus passengers.

Michaela sucked in heavy breaths, just like the others all around her. Someone behind her was weeping quietly. She could smell perfume and sweat and fear. She counted approximately ten floors and then she heard the chime of the elevator, and then the doors opened. Cold air hit her in the face, but she had little time to register it as someone grabbed her and forced her forward. She wondered how much man-handling she would have to endure before she knew just what was going on.

"Get them in here and keep them quiet!" came a voice from the far corner of the room. Michaela already sensed that wherever they were, it was a large room. The floor underneath her felt like concrete, and there were probably more people in the room than she first realized.

"Sit them down over here!" came another order that echoed off the walls, and Michaela was jerked to the side by whoever was leading her around, until she was unceremoniously shoved against the wall and told to sit down and be quiet.

With her back against the wall, Michaela slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor. She felt people on either side of her; she could feel their kneecaps bump hers and she could hear them breathing unsteadily. She heard the sound of the elevator again and the shuffling of more people, probably the last of the passengers. She could hear the sharpness of their footsteps on the ground stop when they too were probably lined up against the wall.

Michaela rested her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Now she really wanted to cry. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so frightened. She was thankful that at least she wasn't alone with her captors, that there were others around her that were in the same boat. She hugged her purse to her chest and started to shake. Why was the room so cold?

Finally, when it seemed that everyone was situated, she could hear the tapping of feet walking to and fro.

She became distracted by a voice that was close to her, probably someone that was watching them to make sure no one made any sudden moves. "This was all of them?" he asked one of his accomplices in a questioning tone.

"Yeah," came the annoyed reply. "We had to get rid of one on the bus."

Michaela recognized that voice to be the gunman on the bus, and then she heard him speak again, in a quieter voice. "Don't give me that look, he won't notice, don't worry."

Michaela scowled. She wondered how maybe they were hoping to abduct, and furthermore how many they had actually abducted from the bus. Were there more captives then she previously thought? Or was it just the people that had been on the bus with her?

Suddenly she heard heavy footfalls emerge from the far end of the room, and the room went deathly quiet. No one made a sound, not the guards, not the passengers, not anyone. The room had gone deathly quiet.

And then there was the voice that echoed off the walls, low and menacing and unmistakable. "I won't notice wha_t_-_ah?_"

Michaela's breath caught in her chest. She knew that voice, everyone in Gotham remembered that voice. After all the videos he sent to GCN, to the incident with Gotham General Hospital…

Michaela felt a single tear roll down her cheek. _Oh no…_

~*~

Next chapter: Guess who.

A/N: Wow, I wrote this whole chapter in one sitting. Hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A very special thank you to **immy**, **SweeneySparrowJokerLove**, **SatanReaper666**, **crystalstars88**, and **HoistTheColours** for their inspiring reviews which probably ensured the continuation of this story.

* * *

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Two**

~*~

There wasn't a single sound in the entire room except for the heavy footsteps coming closer and closer towards them. Michaela tensed with every step as if it were thunder storming in her ears. She trembled, clutching her bag in her hands to try and calm herself down. Perhaps if she was distracted by something in her hands, it would distract her from the situation, but so far, there was no such luck.

"I-it's nothing boss," came the voice of the gunman from the bus, shivering with fear and sounding like he was going to piss himself as the footsteps came closer. "W-we had to get rid of one on the bus, he came at me with a knife!"

Michaela listened, positive that the man who attacked the gunman on the bus did _not_ have a knife, and she concluded that the gunman was obviously lying to cover his ass, but his voice shook so much with fear, it was obvious he was not very convincing. The footsteps stopped and Michaela listened, frightened and at the same time eager to hear the reply.

There was an exasperated growl that went out through the room. "You got rid of one…and now we're done to 23-_ah_!"

"Yeah but boss it wasn't my fault!" the gunman pleaded frantically, completely losing his nerve. "The prick, he came at me with-"

Three shots from a handgun rang out, sharply cutting off the gunman's babbling. Michaela jumped and screamed, as did the others around her, and after a moment they heard the sickening slap of a body hitting the ground. Michaela started to breathe so heavily that she considered using her bag to hyperventilate, but she didn't dare move. Nervous tears slipped from her eyes and soaked in the fabric of the blindfold. Others around her were whimpering, weeping quietly, but no one dared to say a word.

After a moment, Michaela heard a small voice growl. "Get the blindfolds off." And a minute later her blindfold was roughly wrenched up over her head by a goon. As soon as it was off, Michaela opened her eyes and was suddenly blinded from the bright lights beaming down on her, and she blinked steadily to adjust her eyes to the room.

There he was, standing in front of them, dressed in a long grape purple trench coat and matching pants; purple gloves cloaked his hands, and his messy hair was long and greasy and a faded shade of green. But Michaela stared at his face, the face she'd only seen on television and the front page of all the newspapers. His face was covered with heavy, sloppily applied white makeup. Circling his dark, dark eyes were rings of thick black greasepaint, so thick that from her angle, she couldn't see the whites of his eyes. And for the first time she really got a good look at his scars, ragged and protruding like swollen, infected flesh, slopped over with cherry red greasepaint, nearly reaching from ear to ear like a much exaggerated smile. He stood tall, about 6'2, but slightly hunched his shoulders. His presence invaded the room like a bad feeling, to all corners, so all eyes unveiled with the removal of the blindfold were immediately drawn to him, out of fascination just as much as out of fear.

Michaela could do nothing but stare at him; she didn't even register the body of the bus gunman lying motionlessly on the ground, slowly spilling a pool of his own blood. She didn't register the little piece in her mind that was glad to have seen the gunman go, and the other part that was horrified a second man had been killed that night right in front of her. It didn't register that she could be next at any time.

At that moment, for Michaela, there was only the Joker.

Off down the wall to Michaela's far left, a woman let out a terrified scream, presumably as her blindfold was removed and she set eyes on the Joker. Michaela snapped back to consciousness and was able to survey her surroundings. They were in a massive unfurnished room, all cement floors, walls, and ceilings, which was probably why it was so cold. She counted a total of eight masked goons armed with machine guns; one was trying to shut up the screaming woman by shoving the barrel of his gun directly in her face.

Michaela turned her eyes back to the Joker and watched him shift on his feet from side to side impatiently. Finally, after really shoving the barrel of his gun in her face and screaming at the woman to shut up or he'd kill her, the goon got her reduced to a quiet but erratic weeping.

Once it seemed he had everyone's undivided attention, the Joker grinned widely, flashing yellow-stained, jagged teeth. "Good evening ladies and gen-_tel-men_."

He shifted on his feet from side to side, black eyes sweeping over his prisoners. "Tonight you have been invited to…uh, _partake_ in a very interesting social experiment!"

Michaela fought hard not to let more tears fall. Everyone knew that the Joker's social experiments _always_ ended with buildings destroyed and hundreds of innocent people losing their lives…_always_.

The Joker started to giggle. "Now, I've been, uh…_out of town_ for awhile, so I just have to ask…has anyone seen the Batman?"

Michaela watched the Joker's tongue slither out from his mouth and lick at his scars anxiously, his eyes passing from person to person, looking for an answer to his question. But after a moment of complete shocked silence, he continued. "Well we're going to try and get his attention-_ah_."

Somewhere off to her left, Michaela heard someone muttering a prayer.

The Joker was still giggling a bit, as if he was having too much fun in watching the lot of them squirm. "I'm going to inform Gotham of our, uh, par-_tay_, and we'll see if Batman's smart enough to play the game. And if he is, we may all go home alive. Wouldn't that be _nice_, hmm?"

It made Michaela shudder. Batman hadn't surfaced in six months, for all they knew he could be dead or could have left Gotham entirely. The allegations that he killed Dent were strong; if he showed his face, masked or unmasked, he'd probably be arrested for murder.

Someone down the line of hostages said what they were all thinking. "What if he doesn't show?"

This didn't interest the Joker. With a wave of his hand, he turned away. "Plenty of time for questions later."

Presumably, "later" meant never.

At that, the Joker turned to one of his goons, who had a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. At request, the goon fished into the duffel bag and pulled out what looked like a camcorder. The goon offered it to the Joker, who took it in his gloved hands, and turned it on. He moved it around so that the camera pointed in his face.

"_Goood_ evening, Gotham, didja miss me?" He cackled a high-pitched, terrifying laugh, one that sent shivers down Michaela's spine. "I see no one's rolled out the red carpet for my arrival, but that's okay, I've arranged my own, uh, _welcome-home party!_"

He took the camera away from his face and panned all along the wall, capturing the faces of every captive, giggling to himself while he did it. Michaela tried to hide her face but she knew he had captured it before she could look away. After he got everyone, he turned the camera back on his face. "But there's a guest missing, the Batman! And I know my guests are just _**dying**_ to see him, so here's the plan."

Michaela didn't like how he said "dying" so intently. She strained to hear everything he was saying.

The Joker licked his scars while on camera, as though it was some sort of sick calling card. "Batman has 24 hours to arrive, and for every hour that goes by without him, someone will die."

Michaela's breath caught in her chest. Ah, that's why he needed 24 people.

Joker smacked his lips and stuck his face right in the camera. "Starting at midnight. I'm a man of my _wooord._"

He let out a loud, terrifying, high-pitched cackle and danced with the camera in hand. Michaela watched, frozen in fear; this guy really was crazy. Not only had he threatened their lives but he was delighted that all of Gotham was going to see. When he finished his chaotic dance, he gave the camcorder to one of his clowns. "Take it to GCN, I want it to make the 11 o'clock news."

The goon nodded and took off out of the room, and Michaela disdainfully watched him go. She had a sick feeling arise in her stomach when she realized that all of Gotham would see that tape; they thought Gotham was free of the Joker and that he was locked up all safe and sound at Arkham Asylum but now they would all learn that he was back, and that he had hostages, and that people were going to die.

Roger was going to see because he always tried to catch the late news; he would recognize her instantly, even if the camera saw her for only a second, and then he would know that the woman he loved was being held hostage by the Joker.

Once the goon with the camcorder had left the room, the Joker turned back towards his hostages and gleefully rubbed his gloved hands together. "Well now my little _television stars_, I hope you all got to know each other."

Michaela nearly scoffed right out loud and stopped herself just in time. She knew he was mocking them, but honestly, everyone was too frightened to even breathe, let alone say anything to the person sitting next to them. No one was going to meet their future wife or husband in this room.

Whether the Joker picked up on the sardonic tone in the atmosphere was unknown. He looked down the wall at everyone. "Cuz now we all have to say farewell."

Michaela's eyes widened. Say farewell? What did he mean by that? Didn't he say that one hostage would go per hour so long as the Batman stayed hidden?

Luckily to "say farewell" didn't mean to the Joker what it meant to Michaela. In an instant, the goons gathered to his side while Joker surveyed his prisoners. Michaela watched, unable to hear what they were saying, but the Joker pointed to the end of the line of hostages while whispering to the goon at his side, and then the goon walked towards the end of the line. Michaela stretched forward to see what was happening.

"All right, you four, on your feet! Let's move!" The goon ordered, pointing his gun at them, and the last four in the line struggled to their feet and were led out of the room. Michaela turned back to the Joker and saw he was directing a goon to do the same on the other end of the line. For ten minutes, Michaela watched as five clowns led out different groups of the hostages four by four, until all that were left was Michaela and two others, a man and a woman, sitting on either side of her.

Michaela wondered which goon was going to order them to stand to their feet, but they were all conversing quietly with the Joker. The room seemed so huge without the other hostages. Michaela's eyes wandered towards the doors as she wondered where the clowns had taken all of the other hostages.

It was clear they were talking quickly about the fact they had 23 people instead of the planned 24. Michaela's eyes wandered to the body of the bus gunman, lying motionlessly on the ground a few feet in front of her. She grimaced when she saw footprints of blood leading away from the body.

Finally, after what seemed to be a lot of bickering, the Joker motioned for one of the clowns to leave the room, and off he went towards the elevator doors.

Suddenly a question came up like a light bulb over Michaela's head: how had the Joker known that there was going to be 24 people on the bus?

She wanted to look at her watch to see the time. She figured it was probably about 9:00pm, so there would be two whole hours until that tape aired on the news. What would the Joker do before then?

The Joker seemed to know what was on her mind, because he shooed the other two clowns away from him, and glancing at the last three hostages, who were staring at him in wonder, he smacked his lips and licked his scars. "Well I guess _we_ ought to be on _our _way too."

The two clowns came towards the three of them with their guns held high and ordered them up off the floor. Michaela's eyes were glued to the Joker; he turned his back on them as if he were contemplating something complicated. She continued to stare until one of the goons roughly grabbed her arm and forced her to her aching feet. She wondered if he would shoot her if she glowered at him.

One goon started to lead them towards the elevator, and the second walked behind them. "Come on, you three! Let's move it!" yelled the clown from behind them, shoving the barrel of his gun into the small of Michaela's back, causing her to whimper just a little. The two of them were leading them out of the room, and the Joker followed, absent-mindedly talking into a cell phone.

They piled into the elevator, except the Joker made a gesture with his hand for them to continue on; his face looked distorted and almost angry as he talked on the cell phone. The clown nodded, pressed the bottom for the main floor, and Michaela watched curiously as the Joker paced back and forth, talking quickly on the cell phone, before the doors closed and the elevator began to descend.

Michaela let out a soft sigh of relief. Despite the fact that the Joker's presence was mesmerizing, it was always harrowing. At any moment, for no reason and all reasons, the Joker could just flip and put a bullet in your head. She knew the guards probably wouldn't risk hurting any of the hostages, especially after the stink that was made about the man killed on the bus. Joker needed all 23 hostages for his threat on Gotham to be realized.

She knew it wouldn't hurt to hold her tongue, keep her eyes to herself, and only respond when spoken to.

Michaela lifted her eyes up to see which floor they were descending when she saw a clown face out of the corner of her eye, staring at her. Uncomfortable under the gaze of the masked goon, she shifted on her feet and tried to pay attention to something else. She still had her bag in her hands; she wondered if she could reach her emergency stash of chocolate-covered pretzels without the goons seeing. She hadn't eaten and was pretty starved, after all.

The thought of food made her once again think of pizza and of Roger, poor Roger who was probably going out of his mind with worry. Maybe he had gone to the police to file a missing person's report, for surely they wouldn't have heard the news yet?

Her train of thought was interrupted when the clown to her left zipped open the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder and produced the black blindfolds once again. "All right you three, put these on and no peeking!"

Swallowing, Michaela took the blindfold from his outstretched hand and delicately put it over her head, tightening it so her vision was blocked and she was once again blinded. She stood in silence, waiting for the elevator bell to chime and then they would start to move again.

Finally the elevator stopped, and when the doors slid open, Michaela felt a hand grasp her arm and pull her forward. Her shoes clapped on more cement under her feet and she could smell gasoline and tar; they must have been in a parking garage. They were led across the garage and then Michaela heard the familiar sound of a van door behind flung open.

"Get in the back, all of you!" ordered one of the goons, and Michaela carefully edged her way forward until she could feel the door of the van and she hoisted herself up. Putting out her hands in front of her, she reached to touch anything that could give her a clue of what to do. Her hand touched a soft leather seat and she moved to put herself down in it.

One of the other hostages sat beside her, presumably the woman because there was a strong odor of perfume that suddenly clogged her nostrils. Michaela heard the goon push in the man, and then he himself got in the back while the second goon got in the driver's seat and started up the van.

The van's door closed and they waited for what seemed to be ages, completely blind, until they heard the passenger door open. Somebody got in and closed the door.

"Let's go." Came the Joker's low voice, and the driver started up the van and they pulled out of the garage.

The ride was all in silence; Michaela bowed her head and let out a little sigh. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She was tired and she was scared, and she could tell by the erratic way the woman next to her was breathing, that she was feeling the same way.

"What do we do with the shortage, boss?" The driver asked calmly.

"Vance found a couple of…_replacements._" The Joker hissed to the driver quietly, probably thinking that they couldn't hear him in the back seat.

"That's a good idea, boss." The driver agreed, although he sounded pretty unconvinced. "That way we'll have, like, _25_ in case someone gets shot."

"In _case_ someone gets shot?" The Joker asked, and then he let out a roaring laugh, a high-pitched cackle, which made Michaela jump in her seat and made goose-bumps appear on her skin. She bit down into her lower lip, trying to tell herself not to be afraid. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to convince herself that she was somewhere else entirely; she was not being held hostage, she was not being taken to some anonymous location while wearing a blindfold, she was not being creeped out by the Joker's cackle…

But it was all a ruse. She was on the verge of having a total breakdown. Then, knowing that the Joker probably wouldn't tolerate crybabies, she'd probably be the first one to go out of the 24 of them.

The Joker's laugh eased into a hearty giggle. "You crack me up, _Johnny boy_."

The remainder of the ride was in silence; Michaela fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat; the overpowering stench of the woman's perfume made her irritable, but the extremity of the situation they were in simply terrified her. She wondered where they were being taken, and furthermore, where all the others had been taken. Were they driven from the building as well?

Eventually the van stopped after what seemed to be an hour on the road, blinded and frightened. The clown riding in the back with them opened the door and shoved them all out rather unceremoniously, and then they were led at gunpoint across a long cement ground, most likely another parking garage, and then they were shoved again into an elevator.

This was all starting to feel very familiar. Michaela wondered which building they were infiltrating this time. The elevator ride took much longer than the previous one, and even though she had her blindfold on, Michaela had a feeling that they were in a much different building than the one they were in before.

The elevator stopped and they were pushed out. This time Michaela's feet touched carpeted floor, and the smell of fine leather hit her nostrils, and the air around her was cool and humid. Where were they, exactly?

The clowns shouted at them to sit down and shut up, so Michaela sat herself down on the carpet, just in time for the blindfold to be once again wrenched from her face. She found herself in a small room with dark carpeting, with leather lounge chairs lining the walls, and a massive picture window to the left side, so she could look out and see directly into another well-lit office space. Directly in front of her was a rich brown oak desk, and on the wall above it was a large plasma screen TV. Next to the desk was a heavy set of double doors; who knew where those led? While Michaela took in her surroundings, one of the clowns went to work on figuring out how to turn the TV on.

The bell on the second elevator chimed, and the Joker wandered in, his dark eyes sweeping the room with a delighted look on his painted face. "Wow, this is _niiiice_"

One of the clowns hung over the three of them with his gun nestled lazily in his hand. Michaela especially hated the clown mask he was wearing because she couldn't see his face and therefore couldn't see his expression. She willed herself to relax and leaned back against one of the leather chairs, wishing she could curl up in its cushions and fall asleep, but this was no time to let her guard down.

"Hey boss, I got it!" shrieked one of the clowns, and Michaela looked up to see the plasma TV was starting to come on. Again she wanted to get a look at her watch to see the time, but she was too frightened to move. It couldn't have been 11 o'clock already, could it?

The Joker wandered over to the TV and stared as the picture finally came on. It was a cooking program; the chef was making crepes Suzette in a big show-home kitchen. The Joker growled under his breath a little. "Find the news station."

"Sure thing, boss." The clown answered, and went to work on flipping through the channels.

The Joker began pacing on the carpet, and Michaela watched him with a hooded eye. She found it interesting that although they were his captives, he didn't seem to take a particular interest in them at all. Even then, as he was pacing back and forth watching the TV, he wouldn't turn to them and grin at them, or stare them down, or mock them, or taunt them or anything of the sort. He seemed mostly uninterested in them.

Michaela stole a glance at her fellow captives. The woman sitting next to her was in her 40s and had mascara stains all the way down her cheeks, and her heavy eye-makeup had melted in the process. Her face was red, like her eyes, and she looked worn out and exhausted. Michaela felt for her, but she felt for her even more when she saw that underneath a long coat, the woman was wearing a leopard-print suit, very tight and probably uncomfortable.

She was about to lean over and get a good look at the man that had been with them, when all of a sudden the elevator bell chimed and the doors slid open. Michaela watched to see who was coming through.

It was the third clown, and he shoved two men into the room, both wearing teal-coloured uniforms and white tennis shoes. The clown ordered them to sit down so they both threw themselves down into the line right next to Michaela. The man closest to her looked like he was about to cry at any moment.

The Joker finally regarded them with a bit of interest; rather, actually, he took an interest in the other two. He approached them and clapped together his gloved hands. "Welcome to the party, _newcomers_-_ah!_"

The one man, who was slightly older and balding, let out a startled cry and hid his face in his arms, which made the Joker giggle. The second one, a slightly younger man who looked more angry than frightened, watched the Joker's every move with a stern eye. As Michaela watched him, she noticed his lip began to curl, as if he had the most unbelievable hate for the Joker.

That was when she noticed the logo on his uniform, finely stitched in black lettering: **WAYNE ENTERPRISES**.

Michaela's lips fell open as a silent gasp left her. Of course it made total sense that they were in the Wayne building, what with all the expensive looking furnishings and decorating. She had never imagined, in her wildest dreams, that she would ever have a rhythm or reason to come waltzing into the building of Gotham's most admired philanthropist and playboy.

But there were so many questions. Surely the Wayne building was on total lockdown. Surely the security in the building matched that of Buckingham Palace. Surely there were cameras, sensors, alarms, silent alarms, anything that would have GCPD come rushing to the tower to infiltrate and rescue the hostages.

Warily, Michaela spied the Joker, who was pacing impatiently in front of the two men that had just been brought in, as if trying to unnerve them. This wasn't just a routine kidnap-and-kill-hostages-to-get-Batman-to-unmask-himself plot. No, he had been planning this…

Suddenly a shrill voice interrupted the quiet in the room: _"We interrupt this previously scheduled program to bring you an important bulletin! This is Jack Ryder with Gotham City News."_

Michaela looked up at the TV, which suddenly had everyone's attention, especially the Joker. He pushed aside one of his clowns to get a front-row look. There was Jack Ryder, looking pretty handsome and smug as ever. Michaela had never liked him; after his controversial radio show finally went off the air, he had turned to television to display his journalistic talents, for better or for worse. No one was convinced it was for the better.

Jack Ryder, however, looked fairly disdained. "_One hour ago, Gotham City News received this videotape from an anonymous source."_

They played the video, and Michaela turned her eyes away. She didn't want to see the Joker's painted face pressed into the camera, nor did she want to have to look at the long line of hostages lined up against the wall.

Michaela grimaced uncomfortably as she heard the voice from the TV: "_Goood evening, Gotham, didja miss me?"_

The Joker, standing in front of the TV, started to cackle as he watched himself speak on the news. "Check out that guy's suit, _that suit wasn't cheap._"

They all jumped in pure horror as he let out a shrill cackle that echoed up through the walls and bounced off all the walls of the small room. The clowns standing all around nodded their heads and made like they were laughing too, but Michaela figured they were probably just as frightened as she was. She crushed her eyes closed and tried to think of something else. She figured if she could close her mind, she could close her ears, and she wouldn't have to hear anything more.

After a minute, the video ended, and the cameras cut back to Jack Ryder, looking very uncomfortable. _"Ladies and gentlemen, the video you have just seen is very real. Once again, Gotham has found itself directly in the middle of a feud between the Dark Knight and the Joker, who, as sources tell us, escaped from Arkham Asylum nearly five months ago."_

Michaela couldn't believe what she was hearing. The Joker had escaped five months ago and the public hadn't been warned?

Jack Ryder continued. _"Now, with 24 potential victims and no sign of Batman, we can only wonder: what will happen next? And now we will go to the studio for a closer insight on the situation."_

Michaela bowed her head and sighed heavily, while the clowns started congratulating the Joker on once again instilling fear into Gotham. Her eyes felt so heavy, both with fear and exhaustion, and she just wanted to collapse and fall asleep and forget that this was happening, pretend like it was all just a very, very bad dream…

But then of course came the worst of it.

"_I am speaking now to…the Joker."_

Her eyes popped open. She knew that voice.

Michaela looked up at the TV and was met with Roger's face. He was staring directly into the camera, but there was obviously an interviewer there with him, holding up the microphone for him. Michaela nearly burst into tears as she beheld Roger's handsome face, his beautiful crystal blue eyes were full of worry, and when he spoke he was full of both determination and sorrow. Although she didn't want to watch it, she simply couldn't pull herself away. There was Roger, he was there with her.

The Joker moved forward, shoving one of the clowns out of the way so he could get a better look, as if something about this was very interesting to him. Because his back was turned to them, no one could determine what his expression was.

Hesitantly, but with some force, Roger's expression tightened. _"I am speaking to the Joker. You have someone in your…grasp who is very, __**very**__ important to me."_

Michaela couldn't help but smile. She felt she would burst into tears at any moment. Nothing says "I love you" quite like a solemn plea for your lover's safety at the hands of a madman on a national news network.

But then, as Roger tensed, came the undoing. _"Her name is Michaela Nichols, and I saw her on your tape. She is one of your hostages."_

Suddenly Michaela's smile was gone, and she stared at Roger's televised face as though he had betrayed her. But he had betrayed her in a way, hadn't he? Up until now it seemed that the Joker was completely uninterested in any of his hostages. Now, this plea for her safety was only an invitation to create some havoc, a _challenge_ to create havoc.

Roger continued. _"I __**implore**__ you, Joker, more than I can possibly voice, to let her go. I love Michaela Nichols more than anything in the world and you __**have**__ to let her go."_

Michaela shook her head from side to side absent-mindedly, feeling tears brimming in her eyes. What the hell was he thinking?! Had someone talked him into doing this? Was it Jack Ryder who thought it would be great for ratings?

With a sigh, Roger finished. _"You have the power to do the right thing here, and let her go. She's young and vibrant and full of life, and I beg you, please, let her go. Do the right thing."_

And just like that, Roger's face was gone and replaced with Jack Ryder, looking slightly sympathetic but nonetheless unimpressed. _"Heartfelt words from a heartfelt lover-"_

Jack Ryder's voice droned away but Michaela could hardly hear it. She stared at the TV screen for just another glimpse of Roger's face, but it never came. She wondered how on earth GCN had found him so quick, and how they had agreed to do a live interview and a live plea for her safety. She wondered if there would be more, other families and spouses that would do live interviews and pleas for the safety of their loved ones.

Michaela closed her eyes for a brief moment. Why, why had he forsaken her?

The Joker, who had been silent throughout the entirely of Roger's plea, suddenly began to chuckle to himself, deep in his chest. At first it was a low chuckle, and then it quickly began to rise in his throat. "Do the _right thing, __**huh**__?_" He growled under his breath, trying to sound humoured but everyone in the room knew he was angry._ "_Okay…"

Michaela started to tremble as she watched the Joker turn around, a big yellow crocodile smile plastered on his face, and he turned to look at his three surrounding goons, and growled out the words that would forever be burned into Michaela's memory and exist in her nightmares for as long as she would live.

The Joker smacked his lips. "Where is _Michaela Nichols_?"

~*~

* * *

**Next chapter:** We'll see. The Joker's pretty unpredictable, after all…

**A/N:** Wow…looong, and mostly filler. Hope you all enjoyed though. I just had to throw Jack Ryder in there. :P


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Special thanks to **HoistTheColours, Pavi's Girl, crystalstars88, , PreciousRaymond, discworldgirl22, **and **Babetta** for your amazing reviews. You guys rock!

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Three**

~*~

Michaela's eyes widened with fear as she stared at the Joker, who licked his scars expectedly as he stared down his three clowns, who were all looking at each other and mumbling. Too bad none of them had thought to put nametags on their hostages; lucky for Michaela, though. Her heart began to drum hard against her chest and she willed herself to stay calm and not do anything rash. A single look or move, she was certain, would tell the Joker exactly who she was.

The Joker was becoming increasingly displeased. The three clowns were fumbling over their words, looking to each other for explanations. Finally the one pulled aside and flipped open a cell phone, dialing a number and speaking into it quickly and hushed, so none of them could hear him clearly.

One of the clowns nodded to the Joker. "We'll find out, boss, don't worry."

The Joker literally sneered at him and began to pace in front of his hostages, a dangerous look on his painted face. As he paced they couldn't see his face; his greasy curls were dangling in the way, and he didn't say a word, there was only furious silence in the air. Michaela watched him carefully and didn't move; she didn't even want to swallow.

"Len hasn't got her, boss." Said the clown with the phone, and they all turned and looked at the Joker, who continued to pace.

"Well _keep looking._" The Joker growled dangerously, and the clown on the cell began dialing another number.

Michaela closed her eyes for a brief second. By process of elimination they were sure to figure out that she was there with them, amongst the five hostages at Wayne Enterprises. She knew it was only a matter of time. She folded her hands in her lap, frightened beyond belief, wondering why one of the clowns wasn't interrogating them at that moment, figuring out the names of the two women in their grasp.

Her eyes drifted back up to the Joker; becoming more and more agitated, he began to skip as he paced, but not in a cheery way. He was getting impatient. He had been challenged and now he needed to answer to the challenge to the best of his ability.

Michaela couldn't even fathom what he would do when he eventually found out that she was Michaela Nichols, and that it was her stupid boyfriend who had challenged him on Gotham City News.

Then, as the Joker approached his clowns with a mind to give them all a good fierce tongue-lashing, he suddenly seemed distracted by something out of the corner of his eye.

The Joker turned and looked straight into Michaela's eyes, startling her more than anything, his expression fairly unreadable. But then his eyes drifted lower and settled on something. Michaela was almost too frightened to move, but she did. Curious more than anything, she looked down and let out a silent gasp as she realized she was still wearing her nametag from work. Her coat didn't quite cover it. There was the little silver nametag that read in block letters **Michaela **and when hit with the correct light, it reflected light and caught the eye of a madman.

Michaela looked up, eyes wide and brimming with terrified tears, and saw the Joker's face twist with realization. His heavy dark eyes settled on her and a small, knowing smile stretched over his ruby stained lips.

It was instinct; what do you do when certain death is smiling at you the way the Joker was at that very moment? Michaela got to her feet, faster than she ever imagined possible, and made a mad dash for the elevator.

There was noise all around her, shouting and screaming, and she stumbled over her footing in a desperate attempt to reach the elevator doors, or at least to make her escape down the hallway. Her bag fell to the ground but she paid little mind. She wasn't even conscious of what was happening; her will to survive had completely taken over.

She didn't get far before a hand with an iron grip grabbed her arm and jerked her back. Michaela couldn't help it; she screamed out as she was pulled back against a hard body, the hand twisting her arm painfully. She squeezed her eyes closed as the realization of death was truly becoming a reality.

Michaela was wrenched around to face her attacker and let out a sob as she came face to face with the Joker's black eyes.

"_Where _do you think _you're going, hmm?_" the Joker snarled as he twisted her arm, trying to get her to keep from struggling. Tears fell down from her eyes but he didn't seem to notice, and even if he did, would he have cared? She stood inches from him and realized how he towered over her, how he looked down into her eyes, and that scared her even more: the drill of those dark eyes as they bore down into her.

Michaela twisted in a desperate attempt to get away. The Joker licked at his scars.

"Ah _tat ta ta ta_," He muttered as he gripped the back of her head with one hand and her face hard in the other, trying to hold her firmly even as she desperately tried to squirm away. Tears continued to fall when his fingers dug painfully into her skin and she was finally resolved to stay still and look up into his glassy black eyes. She was caged in his grip, essentially caught with no hopes of escape.

"There we go…Mi-_kay_-_lah,_" the Joker growled out her name syllable by syllable, as if to intensify her fear; it was working beautifully, she screwed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look into his eyes. "You're-ah, _**boyfriend**_ tells me you're _young_ and _vibrant_!"

The Joker sounded livid, with every word he spoke, and Michaela trembled so badly in his grasp. His fingers bit into her face, and when she looked up into his eyes, fresh tears poured down over the apples of her cheeks. His eyes were black and deep; they stood out like black pearls on a bed of black sand. If she weren't so frightened for her life, she might have taken a moment to appreciate their subtle beauty.

Slowly, Michaela shook her head back and forth. "Please…" she whispered. "Please…don't hurt me."

The Joker flashed a toothy yellow grin and giggled a little in his throat, making her shake even worse than before. For a single second he removed his left hand from her face and fished around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. He produced a switchblade, and Michaela's eyes widened in fear as he showed her the silver glint of the fine little blade.

"Let's-ah, give your boyfriend…" he licked his scars thoughtfully. "_Something _to _see._"

His menacing laugh rang in her ears which drowned out Michaela's scream of fear; before she was even aware of what was happening, he turned her around and wrapped his forearm about her neck, bringing her flush against his body. Michaela's arms instantly went to his and tried to pry it away from her, but her feeble attempts paused as she realized one of the clowns was pulling out the camcorder from the duffel bag. The three of them were chuckling behind their masks, just as the Joker was laughing in her ear.

Michaela stared at the camcorder in terror; the Joker was going to kill her, or maim her, or horribly disfigure her, and they would film the entire process. No doubt they would send it to Gotham City News, where Roger, and the rest of the city, would see the footage.

She knew it was now or never, do or die. So Michaela fought with a newfound strength, pulled at the Joker's arm, let out a strangled cry and wrenched her head back so forcefully that it collided _hard _with what she presumed was the Joker's nose.

The Joker let out a grunt of pain and released her immediately. Michaela fell forward onto the carpet, coughing against her bruised windpipe, not even registering the pain on the back of her head. She came to realize, only briefly, that she was kneeling on the carpet, out of the Joker's grasp…for a little while at least.

But then one of the clowns gripped her hair and wrenched her up to her feet. She gasped aloud and got to her feet as quick as she could to endure the pain. The clown stuck his masked face in hers. "Stupid little _bitch_!" and he rose his gun so she could see it.

Michaela's eyes widened and she was about to plead for mercy when all of a sudden a strange noise began to fill the room. It was laughter.

Everyone in the room paused. The clown that held her looked off to the side, and Michaela followed suit, looking at where the Joker was standing, hunched over, his hands at his face, laughing. But it wasn't a dangerous laugh; it wasn't a mocking sort of laugh. It was simply…genuine laughter, the impulsive product of amusement.

Finally, after a moment, the Joker raised his face. Michaela saw the blood from his nose and how he smeared it with the wipe of his glove. His eyes were literally glitzy with amusement. Once he wiped away the rest of the blood, and smearing a little of his white clown makeup, the Joker made his playful way towards Michaela, a little smile dawned on his lips, his eyes never left her for a moment.

"You want me to finish her off, boss?" asked the clown who was still gripping Michaela's hair.

The Joker waved his hand at the clown. "No, no…go on, let her go."

Hesitantly, the clown released her hair but kept his gun on at her all times. Michaela tensed and didn't dare try to move, staring at the Joker as he approached her like a jungle cat.

Laughing a little, the Joker came right up to her, towering over her as he had done before, but he smiled down at her. Once again, she didn't dare move; she found herself locked again under those eyes.

"You've got…a _little fight in ya_, Mi-kay-lah." He said in an amused voice. "_I like that_."

His serpentine tongue lashed out against his scars once again, and she let out a startled cry as he placed a hand on her arm and literally shoved her back towards the line of hostages, where she had been sitting before. Michaela stumbled over her feet but regained her footing, looking at him as if to ask "are you serious"? Was he completely turning his back on the fact that Roger has practically _insulted_ him when he pleaded for Michaela's safety?

But the Joker had lost all interest in her. He turned his back to her and was talking to his clowns, who all stared at her, just as confused as she was. But the Joker snapped his fingers and got their attention, and commenced into what looked like a meeting, and so Michaela very slowly eased herself down into a sitting position, leaning up against the leather chair, and closed her eyes as tears continued to fall down over the apples of her cheeks. She didn't even register the anxious looks that the other hostages were giving her.

She had stared death in the clown face; right into his black eyes…wouldn't this be a story to tell Roger.

~*~

By 11 o'clock, every channel on the TV was broadcasting the Joker's footage. The Joker seemed to tire of Jack Ryder's prickish approach to the story and instead focused his attention on other news networks discussing the story. People were being interviewed, one news anchor was beyond furious that Gotham City hadn't even been alerted that the Joker had escaped Arkham Asylum. One news anchor was trying to get Commissioner Gordon to comment on the story, but it seemed as though they were having difficulty getting anyone from GCPD to comment.

The Joker flipped through the channels with much amusement, chuckling to himself as he saw with his own eyes the terror he was already inflicting; the fact that every channel was dedicated to his new scheme was like achieving the highest honour ever. Just _wait_ until hostages started to die, and then the city would really explode.

Michaela sat perfectly still, ever since the Joker threatened her life, staring down at the carpet while tears fell steadily from her eyes. Her heart was so exhausted from thumping so hard that it was now dull and slow. She wanted to fall asleep right there, just collapse and wake up a few hours later, when maybe she'd be a little closer to death.

What exactly was the Joker planning on doing with the hostages in 24 hours? Was he really going to make them all wait there until the Batman showed up? What if the Batman didn't show up at all? Would they continue to sit there, watching hostages get picked off hour by hour, as it would no doubt be broadcast on the news?

What an incredibly bitchy way to die, Michaela thought. Sit around for 24 hours terrified enough to piss your pants only to end up dying somewhere along the line. She so much preferred when the Joker was interested in blowing things up. She figured she could have gone home, eaten pizza, and been in bed with Roger when the Joker blew up their apartment building, something to that effect. Anything but this perpetual and unbearable waiting to die…

At the same time she was angry; she was angrier with Roger than anything. While she wanted to believe more anything that he had made the plea for her safety out of love and concern, did he not take the time to consider who her _captor_ was? Roger had been in Gotham City when the Joker was terrorizing the city, did he not make the connection between _madman_ and _holds my lover's life in his hands_? Regrettably she used to tease him for not always using his head, but this time she was just downright furious about it. Seriously, how could he have done such a thing?

But she didn't want to be angry with him. She loved him and wanted more than anything to escape this nightmare and go running back to his arms. She tried to convince herself that it was all Jack Ryder's idea (which it was probably was, now that she thought about it) for Roger to make the plea for her safety. That way she couldn't stay angry with him.

Michaela promised herself that if she ever got out of this alive, she would go running to Roger and convince him to move to a little town on the beach that no one had ever heard of; somewhere the _Joker_ would never even _touch._

Speaking of the Joker, he hadn't even seemed to give her a second thought since she bashed his nose in. When she had seen the blood on his face, she was sure that she would die right then and there. But he promptly ignored her. Although relieved, she didn't take this to be the best sign either; maybe he was plotting the more gruesome way to kill her and put it all over the news.

She shuddered hard, and tried not to think about it.

Towards midnight, the Joker was becoming increasingly agitated, flipping through the channels and seeing nothing but news anchors talking and pleading for Batman's help. But it appeared as though Batman wasn't coming.

Finally, five minutes to midnight, the Joker took a phone from one of his goons and made a series of phone calls. "Has anyone seen _the Bat_?" he asked over and over again, and then hung up furiously when he heard the answer. Finally, after pacing the floor anxiously, he made another phone call.

"It's midnight, and there's no sign of the Bat-_ah_." He said somewhat gleefully into the phone, and then he licked his scars. "_Take someone out._"

Michaela closed her eyes and more tears began to fall. Someone was going to die in the next five minutes.

But then Michaela thought of something; _where were the other hostages_? Were they in the Wayne Enterprises building too, just maybe on different floors? Or were they back in the previous building?

More importantly, how long would it take GCPD to find them?

~*~

At 12:30 the Joker turned to a newscast that featured a slightly more bearable news anchor who was looking choked up, as if he had been crying. He looked into the camera very seriously. "_Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received new footage of the Joker's tirade; one of the hostages has been killed. I repeat, one of the hostages has been killed."_

"I think they heard you the first time-_ah!_" The Joker snapped at the television in annoyance, looking giddy, probably wanting to see the footage.

Michaela already knew she didn't want to see the footage, but for whatever reason she simply couldn't look away when the news anchor said, ever so seriously, that the footage they were about to witness was disturbing.

Immediately, when she saw the crude camera work of the taped footage, she knew that wherever this group was, they were not in the Wayne Enterprises tower. Strangely, the walls and the ground were the same peachy colour. It was brightly lit and with very little furniture. During the shaking of the camera, the line of hostages was in plain sight, seated up against a wall, and a man was wrenched from the line, screaming with horror. The camera got a shot of his terrified face, all red from tears, and then Michaela had to hide her face and not watch any more. There was a rattling sound of bullets, and then more screaming, and Michaela shook and covered her ears with her hands.

However, when she looked up, she was face to face with the man's bloodied corpse, lying motionless on the ground, riddled with profusely bleeding bullet wounds. Michaela saw it for only a moment, and then the footage was cut off and the screen returned to the news anchor; all the blood had drained from his face.

The Joker let out a loud amused cackle, high-pitched, making them all jump where they were sitting. He stared to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet, giggling. The clowns were watching and trying to laugh to concur with the Joker, but they looked pretty out of it. The news anchor, who looked like his spirit had been completely broken, made a desperate attempt for the Batman to do the honourable thing and come forward.

Michaela thought about that too; surely the Batman, whoever he was, would have seen the news. He would have known that the Joker was back, and that his threats were real, and that people were dying and more people were going to die as the night wore on, so long as he didn't come forward and show his face. Michaela wondered what she would do in such a situation; would she offer herself up to the Joker?

What was the Joker going to do if the Batman did unveil himself? Would he let everyone go free? Would his attention turn from them to Batman?

Ten minutes went by, and the woman in the leopard print suit and the two uniformed Wayne Enterprises employees had fallen asleep, either leaning up against the leather chairs or bowing their heads in sleep. Michaela wasn't surprised; she was exhausted from the day and from being terrified and from crying so much; she would have fallen asleep easily if she thought her body would have let her. As the news continued on, without changing much, the clowns did a strange thing after awhile: they turned off the lights and left the room.

Michaela realized they were all alone in the room with the Joker. Suddenly she felt her heart stop in her chest. Without looking at the Joker, who was sitting down on the desk and watching the TV, she wondered if the clowns were leaving them alone so Joker could finally exact his revenge on Michaela for the mistake that Roger had made.

She hugged herself nervously, fighting the urge to cry. She had cried enough, and crying wasn't going to help the situation any more. If she was going to be brutally murdered by the Joker, and if the final moments of her life were documented by a crude camcorder and broadcast all over the news, she wouldn't want to be seen crying.

The bright glare from the TV was starting to hurt her tired eyes. She looked up for a moment, wondering if the Joker had his back turned to her so that maybe, just _maybe_, she could close her eyes and he wouldn't notice.

But as she looked up her eyes locked with the Joker's black eyes. He was staring at her quietly, his clown face barely visible as he was silhouetted from the light of the TV.

Michaela swallowed tightly and pulled her knees into her chest protectively. _Here it comes_, she thought disdainfully, and again fought hard not to cry.

The Joker stared at her steadily for what seemed to be hours. His gaze wasn't angry or scheming, it was simply…curious. But was that right? Could that be curiosity in his dark, murderous eyes?

Turning over his shoulder, the Joker touched something at the base of the TV and the volume began to quiet. Michaela tensed, clutching at her knees nervously. _Here it comes, here is comes, do not cry, do not cry…_

After the volume was quiet, but not completely mute, the Joker swiveled around in his seat on the desk until he was facing her completely. For a moment she thought she saw him smiling, but then she realized it was just an illusion with thanks to his clown makeup. She sucked in her breath and waited for him to do whatever he was gonna do.

He licked his scars, and the first words out of his mouth surprised her. "Wanna know how I got them?"

Michaela sat there and blinked at him. _What?_ She wanted to say it aloud but her lips wouldn't move.

"The scars," the Joker said, pointing to his mouth with a gloved finger. She could hear him sucking at them on the inside of his cheeks. "You wanna know how I got them?"

Michaela could do nothing but stare and blink at him. Was he actually about to offer information to her? Or was he doing it purposely to calm her down before he brutally murdered her?

When she didn't answer him, the Joker jumped down off the desk and came sauntering towards her. She would have hid her face from him but she was completely frozen in fear; he was advancing on her quick, what was he going to do? The clowns were off doing who knew what, they were all alone. Whatever he was about to do, she was sure it wasn't going to be good.

The Joker stood there, looking down at her, before collapsing and sitting down right next to her. She jumped, wanting to scream and get up and run away from him. He was damn near shoulder to shoulder with her; the last thing she wanted was to be closer to the Joker than she absolutely had to be. She shifted to the side very slightly; she didn't want to risk stirring up any bad emotions in him.

The Joker raised his knees up to his chest, just like she was, and stretched his arms out over his kneecaps. He started to tap his feet, almost as if he was trying to remember something.

"So when I was in high school, I had this teacher." The Joker began, his voice calm and quiet, like he was going to genuinely tell her the story and not just lead her into a false sense of security. "She was _beautiful_. She taught drama. I didn't have many friends in high school, nooo, I was pretty much a _loner_."

Michaela swallowed. _Wonder why _she thought to herself. She figured the Joker didn't become as eccentric as he was over the course of a few years. He was probably a real weirdo in high school, all quiet and standing around by himself, not talking to anyone, not making many friends, completely within his own world.

"Soo she would be my partner in all our drama games-_ah_." He licked his scars, and he made an amused noise in his throat. "And one day she invites me over for _tea_ and _cookies_…" he chuckled deep in his throat and started to shake his head from side to side. "But that's not what _she_ was in the_**mood**_for, noooo, not at _all_."

For the first time since he started his story, Michaela looked at him over her shoulder. She noticed that, even when sitting down, he still seemed to tower over her. Or perhaps that was just his haunting presence. She observed how the glow of the TV made his makeup look more uneven and shoddily applied. Nonetheless, she listened and focused on his profile.

She wondered what his face looked like under all that crap.

"So then her _husband_ comes home." The Joker started to giggle in his throat. "He finds us together, and goes off _crazier_ then anything I've ever seen. He chases me down into the kitchen and I trip over the cat. I know, _**the cat!**_**"**

Michaela jumped as he raised his voice. He raised his hands and shook them in frustration, but he was also laughing, as though it hadn't happened to him at all, as if it had happened to his dumb ass friend and it was the funniest story he'd ever heard.

"So then he picks up a kitchen knife and sticks it in my mouth, and he says _'you won't be stealing any more wives' now, pretty-boy'."_ His tone had suddenly changed from sounding delighted and turned to murderous. "And _she_…_she_ just _**watched**_ from the stairs."

Michaela stared at him in horror; what a horrible thing to have happened to a teenager. She couldn't even imagine what it would have been like for him to go back to school with those scars…if he even did go back to school. She figured he would have been especially angry with the teacher who didn't even do anything to stop her husband from mutilating him.

As she stared at him, the Joker suddenly turned and looked at her, and she gasped a little. His presence was still so eerie, and to be this close to him was positively frightening. The glint in his black eyes was deadly.

"I don't hold it against them." The Joker growled, only loud enough for her to hear, and she started to tremble. Unable to look away from his eyes, she was scared how they bore into her and so easily alarmed her. But it was what he said next that really scared her. "_Not anymore-ah_."

Michaela let out a little whimper as she understood his motive behind telling her this story. No one ever did wrong by the Joker without paying for it sooner or later. His little story was his way of letting her know that sooner or later, she was going to die; he had spared her earlier for whatever reason, but sometime in the night, he was going to kill her just as brutally and horribly as he could. It would send a message throughout Gotham that no one challenged the Joker and got away with it.

The Joker stared at her for another few minutes, his gaze hard and dangerous, before he stood up and wandered back towards the television. Michaela watched him go, staring at his back, and once she was sure he was more fixated on the TV then her, she closed her eyes and tears slipped from her eyes yet again.

Next to her, ever so suddenly in the quiet darkness, came a whispering voice. "He deserved it, if you ask me."

Michaela looked over to her right and was irked to discover that the hostage – the man that had been captured on the bus with them – was sitting next to her, and she was instantly met with his pleasant face and warm brown eyes. She looked him over for only a moment; he looked like a classic businessman, although his hair was a little long in the back. He looked like a decent enough guy.

And he offered her a smile. It was more than anyone had done all night. Whether he did it to calm her or try and make her feel better about things, she didn't know, but she was more grateful for his smile than anything.

He extended his hand. "I'm Dorian." He whispered.

Michaela looked at his hand and slowly took it in hers. She knew this was where she was supposed to introduce herself, but truthfully…she couldn't even say her own name.

~*~

A/N: I'm SO sorry about the lateness of this update. I just finished a very successful university semester and I guess I partied just a little too hard…hehehe.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter has been revised. With thanks to HoistTheColours, I realized that the original chapter four helped steer the story into an unrealistic dead end. There is one significant change, written with a more realistic touch. I hope it improves the quality of the chapter. Enjoy.**

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Four

* * *

**

Michaela watched the Joker warily. At any moment he could turn around and catch her staring at him, and that would really invite trouble. Since sitting down with her and sharing the grizzly story of the origins of his scars with her, he had since been preoccupied flipping through channels, observing the panic he was so obviously creating. He had settled, finally, on GCM and Jack Ryder, where the channel featured a clock called 24 Countdown, following the hours that the Batman had left to show his face. Everyone was anticipating that, at the end of 24 hours, if Batman didn't show, something really _huge_ was going to happen. The Joker never was one to do things subtly.

Around 1 o'clock, when it was nearly time to eliminate another hostage, the Joker hopped off the desk, stretched out his long arms, and sauntered casually out of the room. Michaela let out a deep sigh of relief when he was gone. The feel in the room instantly calmed.

Dorian, who was sitting next to her and leaning against one of the leather chairs, let out a sigh. "So that was your man on the TV, huh?"

Michaela snorted a little; did she really want to admit she was dating someone who thought doing such a stupid thing would save the life of his girlfriend? "Unfortunately."

Dorian looked at her over her shoulder, although Michaela stared ahead of her at the TV, not turning to meet his eye. "I…I was sure he was going to kill you."

Michaela frowned, not wanting to think about it. She had a feeling that the memory of the Joker holding her face and growling at her would haunt her dreams for as long as she lived. "So did I."

Dorian shrugged a bit. "He probably figured it would ruin his design."

They both straightened as suddenly one of the far doors opened and the three clowns came wandering in, unaccompanied by the Joker. They huddled in one corner of the room and started talking quietly amongst themselves. One of them lit a cigarette and invited the others to partake.

Michaela watched them, making sure they were appropriately distracted, before she discreetly leaned closer to Dorian. "What do you mean his _design_?"

"Well look at it," Dorian stretched out his legs, and stole a peek at the clowns to make sure they weren't listening or watching them. When he was sure they were too immersed in their conversation, Dorian turned his full attention to her. "24 hostages, he splits them up into six groups of four, and judging by that last video, I don't think that group is anywhere in this building. He's probably picking off hostages within that first group, one by one."

Michaela frowned. "What would the point of that be?"

Dorian shook his head and settled back against the leather chair, crossing his arms. "No idea. We'll know for sure if we see footage for whoever's gonna die next."

Michaela wanted to remark about the callousness of his comment, but she figured it wasn't the time or place to start being a bitch. She figured maybe she had an ally in Dorian; as he crossed his arms she spied a gold wedding band on his ring finger and she figured he had a wife that was just as worried about him as Roger was worried about her. Maybe, if they were really careful, they could get out of this alive and get back to their loved ones.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to Jack Ryder's smug face, but the volume was turned down too low and she couldn't hear anything. She wondered if there was any news about Batman, or maybe the GCPD had learned something about their location. Frustration enveloped Michaela as she realized that if only she had a phone, she could discreetly call the police; they'd probably trace the line right back to Wayne Enterprises, and then at least the police would know where they were, even if the Batman chose not to come forward.

Suddenly, Michaela saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and looked to her left and was met with the picture glass window, and her jaw dropped open; as she was peering into the neighbour skyscraper, there was a light on in one of the offices. And in that office was a janitor emptying the wastebaskets.

She couldn't believe the luck; they were close enough that she could probably wave her arms frantically and catch his attention. Anxiously she looked at the clowns as they huddled together, chatting and snickering to each other, and she carefully nudged Dorian with her elbow. Observing that she was watching the clowns, Dorian remained quiet, and peered to where she was looking. He made a hopeful sound in his throat.

"Maybe he'll see the glare from the television," Dorian whispered literally in her ear. "And he'll figure something's up."

Michaela shook her head. "No, if he were to call the police, they wouldn't do anything based on a television being on. We need to really get his attention."

They watched intently as the janitor slowly made his way around the office. He obviously had headphones in; as he was dusting the floor he was twisting to and fro as if wanting to dance with his broom. When he stepped around the desk of the office, and closer to the picture window, Michaela frantically tried to think of something, _anything_, which would catch his attention.

Luckily, and very unluckily, neither Michaela nor Dorian had to do anything.

Next to Dorian came a sound of someone just waking up, the telltale clearing of the throat and groaning with sleepiness. Michaela and Dorian both looked and noticed it was the woman in the leopard print suit who was suddenly awake, rubbing her eyes and looking at them sleepily.

Before Michaela or Dorian could warn her to keep quiet, what with the clowns in the room and the fact that they'd found a potential way to alert the police, the woman looked at them and then her gaze wandered past them. And then her eyes went wide.

"Oh my god…" she said without thinking to husk her voice, as she realized there was a janitor within plain sight.

Michaela opened her mouth to tell her to be quiet, but before she could do or say anything, the woman leapt right to her feet and made a beeline for the picture window. Michaela's eyes followed her and wanted to scream at her to stop, but it was too late.

The woman in the leopard-print suit slammed her fists against the window and started to scream. "_HELP! HELP, WE'RE IN HERE!_"

Michaela watched in horror as she did this; her high-pitched scream would have at least been heard a few floors up and a few floors down, and hopefully through the two panes of glass that separated her and their potential janitor-savior. But talk about the most unceremonious way to do it. In a second, as was expected, the clowns had been abruptly pulled from their conversation and their attention was drawn to the screaming.

One clown approached her, aimed his gun at her, and bellowed. "Hey, get the _fuck_ away from the window!"

But the woman blatantly ignored him and his orders. She continued to pound her fists on the glass and screamed. "_WE'RE IN HERE! HELLLLP!"_

Michaela reached forward to graze her ankle, touch her arm, do anything to get her to stop before the clown really got angry, but Dorian pulled her back. When she looked at him, he gave her a serious look and shook his head, as if warning her not to get involved. So she watched from her seat, completely helpless, and the woman pounded on the glass and came closer and closer to her undoing.

The clown raised his gun higher and approached her by a step. "Get _away_ from the window!" he screamed at her. "I will not hesitate to shoot you, you stupid cow!"

Still, she continued to ignore him. Every pound on the glass was like thunder in Michaela's ears, and she could do nothing but stare as the woman strained her lungs and screamed to get the janitor's attention. Tears streamed down the woman's already red face but she was determined to get help.

The clown, who had clearly had enough of her screaming, marched right up to her and gripped her shoulder in an iron grip. The woman screamed at the contact, and the clown turned her around so that she faced him, and she put up her hands pitifully as tears streamed down her cheeks. The clown raised his gun to her face and started shouting incoherently.

"Please…please don't shoot me…" she sniveled through heart-wrenching sobs as she slowly sank down to her knees, continuing to hold up her hands to deter him from shooting her. The clown continued to keep the gun steady on her, watching as she got down on her knees and collapsed forward onto her hands, crying hard. Michaela watched, her heart going out to the woman, who was probably scared out of her wits.

The clown eased up a little. "Just get down and stay down!" he demanded, and then his arms went slack and the gun dangled at his side. With the woman subdued, the clown turned to the other two clowns, who had been watching the entire thing, and shrugged his shoulders. "Fuck man, we're not getting paid enough for this sh-"

And then the clown's angry words were replaced by the loud, hard sounds of gunfire. Michaela screamed as the gun discharged three times; the clown jumped in surprise and the other two clowns let out exclaims of surprise. The woman jerked forward as she was hit in the shoulder, and the small of her back. The third bullet hit the carpet and was gone in the darkness. The woman's arms failed to hold her up and she collapsed face first into the carpet, letting out a strangled cry of pain.

Michaela stared, completely unable to rip her eyes away, as the clown looked down at the woman and then looked at the gun questionably. He may have been wearing the mask, but she knew he was in a state of shock…and question.

Michaela closed her eyes and fought the urge to cry. The woman's agonizing sounds of pain was the worst sound Michaela had ever heard in her life. When she next opened her eyes, the woman's coat was slowly becoming bloodstained from the gunshot wounds. She stretched her hands out in front of her, as though she were clawing for something, reaching out for something. The rank, ever so familiar stench of copper filled the air instantly.

The clown looked down at the woman cautiously, holding his gun away from her. Michaela stared, questioning his behaviour. She hadn't seen the clown aim the gun at her, was it possible that it completely misfired? He was standing close enough to her and she assumed the gun had enough force in it that the bullets would go flying off a bit.

The clown hadn't meant to shoot her at all. He'd only meant to intimidate her. But at this point all seemed lost and useless. Michaela looked and the woman went limp and her blood continued to soak through her coat. From what she could see, it was possible the one bullet had pierced a few vital organs.

Michaela squeezed her eyes shut and she hid her face in her arms. She couldn't believe she had just watched a helpless woman be gunned down and shot to death right in front of her, even if the shooting had been entirely accidental. She mourned for the woman already; her last moments were held in the most terrible fear and she died what looked like an agonizing and painful death.

And worst yet, the office in the neighbour skyscraper was dark. The janitor had come and gone and probably hadn't seen anything.

Hiding her face, Michaela listened to the sound of footsteps approaching her general vicinity. "Bob, what the _hell_?"

"I-I don't know what the hell happened!" came the voice of Bob, the clown who'd shot the woman. "I wasn't even aiming at her! Hey, you guys saw, didn't you? I wasn't aiming at her! The gun went off by itself! Where the fuck did he get these fucking things?"

It didn't matter how much he tried to hide it, Michaela could hear the fear trembling in Bob's voice. The woman's death may not have been entirely his fault, but he sounded absolutely petrified.

"That's another hostage _dead, Bob!_" said one of the clowns in a state of urgency.

Michaela gasped a little to herself. _Of course_, she thought suddenly. All the clowns had seen what the Joker had done to the gunman who had hijacked the bus when _he_ killed a hostage…Bob wasn't upset about a dead hostage at all, he was scared for his life and what the Joker was going to do to him.

"I-It wasn't my fault! It was an accident!" Bob started shouting, probably to pump himself up a little and convince himself that he was innocent, but Michaela could hear his voice trembling.

The clowns were all chatting quickly in hushed, worried tones. "The boss is gonna fucking _flip_ when he sees this!"

And speak of the devil, for the door on the far side of the room opened and closed. Michaela looked up instantly and saw the Joker standing at the door. He had taken his trench coat off and was staring at the clowns with a bad look on his painted face.

Michaela swallowed as she watched the towering Joker cross the room in heavy strides, his black eyes narrowing on his clowns, who all looked like they were about to shit themselves. He came to a halt right in front of Michaela, looking down at the body that the clowns were so obviously trying to hide from him.

The Joker started to heave; Michaela could see his shoulders rise and fall with seething anger. He pointed at the body with a gloved hand. "What's, ah…_**what the hell is this**_**?"**

The clowns, as well as Michaela, jumped as the Joker raised his voice into a shouting growl. Michaela felt like shaking, just like the clowns, but willed herself to be still. She was happy that this was obviously the fault of one of the clowns, and so the Joker's attention would not be turned to his remaining hostages.

The clown, who Michaela assumed was Bob, seemed to be searching for an explanation. "It was an accident, boss!"

Michaela observed the Joker lick his scars quizzically, squinting his eyes uncertainly at Bob. "An…_accident?_"

"Yeah, uh, s-she was pounding on the glass, boss. And she was screaming, didja hear her screaming? And I told her to get the fuck away from the window, but she wouldn't do it, boss! So I, uh…I got her down on her knees and my gun just like went off by itself!"

Michaela watched the Joker's eyes study Bob as he gave his side of the story, and for a moment it looked like the Joker was going to let it slide and everything would go back to its eerie quietness.

Bob put up his hands, as if to plead with the Joker; it was obvious he was about to piss his pants in fear under the Joker's accusing glare. "Honest, boss! It was an accident! The gun went off by itself, a few bullets hit her and she-she just-"

Michaela watched the Joker. Would he buy it? Would he believe that the shooting and death of one of the hostages had been a complete accident? It seemed like he would, but she couldn't have been more wrong; the Joker was very unpredictable.

The Joker turned to one of the clowns, literally snatched the gun out of his hands, and pointed the end of the barrel at Bob. The clown barely had time to gasp before the Joker fired several times directly into Bob's chest. The other clowns covered their ears and made cries of dismay as they watched their coworker's arms flail before his body buckled over and he collapsed down on the carpet next to the body of the woman.

Michaela's breath caught in her chest as she watched the entire thing happen. Blood began to appear on the clown's chest, and raising her eyes she saw the unimpressed look on the Joker's face as he handed the gun back to the clown he borrowed it from and turned on his heel. Michaela beheld the murderous look on his face, a look of pure fury.

"You can't rely on _**anyone**_ these days," The Joker growled dangerously. "You've got to do _**everything**__ yourself_."

The Joker wandered towards the TV and sat himself down on the desk to watch it. Michaela wondered how he seemed completely undeterred by the fact that he had so unceremoniously taken the life of his henchman without giving it a second thought. The two remaining clowns looked down at Bob's dead body and then looked at each other, unsure what to do or say or think.

Michaela stared at the bodies lying on the floor, completely unaware that goose-bumps had broken out on her skin and her hands became clammy. Dorian, sitting next to her, touched her shoulder gently. "Michaela, are you okay?"

She simply shook her head. The smell of blood flooded her nostrils and she couldn't stop smelling it. She stared at the bodies and the pools of blood soaking the carpet and she felt her insides twist and turn with anguish. She had to get the hell out of there.

The clowns were walking past them, and in one smooth motion, Michaela reached forward and gripped the pant leg of the nearest clown, who looked down at her with obvious annoyance.

"What do you want?_" _ He growled.

"I…" Michaela started to breathe heavily, unable to compose words properly. "I have to use…the restroom."

The clown glared down at her. "Not. Happening." He bit out.

"Please…" she begged, looking up at him. "I'm going to be sick."

She wasn't joking. She knew the telltale feeling of nausea, and she knew from past hangovers and influenzas the signs her body gave her when she was going to throw up everything in her stomach. If she didn't get to a toilet, she was going to throw up there on the carpet, and she was positive the Joker wasn't going to like _that_.

The clown growled angrily. "Ah, goddamn it…" he muttered, and turned over his shoulder. "Hey boss?"

There was silence for moments. "…_What_?" came the Joker's reply.

"Visit to the ladies room, yay or nay?" the clown asked.

The Joker sighed in annoyance. "Make it fast. And go with her, ya clown."

The clown looked down at her and Michaela nodded, slowly climbing to her feet, which seemed to be an obstacle all in its own, since her legs were cramped from sitting for so long. She made no protest when the clown gripped her arm, and she didn't look up or look at anything, even though she knew Dorian's eyes followed her. Her legs felt like rubber beneath her as she walked unsteadily with the clown, who led her out of the room and down a dimly lit hallway.

He pushed open the door to the ladies, turned on the light, and literally shoved Michaela towards an empty stall. The smell of bleach made things worse, and she didn't hesitate; she closed the door and went flying face first towards the toilet bowl, letting go of everything that was in her system. She closed her eyes and grimaced as she was sick, gagging and coughing loudly until everything was out of her system. When she figured it was done, she collapsed away from the toilet bowl, feeling the burning sensation in her throat, and she began to cry.

She let out long, hard sobs, not just the quiet crying like she'd been doing all night. She cried out of frustration, sadness, lost faith in humanity, and fear; more in fear than anything else. She curled her legs up against her chest and started to sob into her knees.

How, how could people like this even exist? How could they take lives with such ease? The Joker seemed more upset about having his plans ruined rather than losing one of the members of his team. That poor woman, surely she had a family waiting for her at home, someone who was desperately hoping that she was okay. All too soon they would have to come to terms with the fact that she had been shot to death, completely unnecessarily, because she was trying to call for help.

For a moment, Michaela thought she was going to be sick again, but there was literally nothing in her system. She hadn't eaten since earlier in the afternoon, everything that was now in the toilet bowl. Instead she relaxed against the wall of the stall and hugged herself for comfort, tears running steadily down her cheeks.

"Hurry the hell up in there!" the clown shouted, startling her. "We haven't got all day!"

Michaela sighed heavily and eased herself up to her feet. As much as she didn't want to go back into that room that stank of blood, she knew that if she dawdled in the bathroom stall, hell maybe she'd get shot too. Or worse, the clown could call the Joker in to deal with her. And she didn't want that.

On wobbly legs she flushed the toilet, wiped her mouth and chin and straightened out her clothes. She opened the stall and wandered towards the sink, looking at the clown's mask for only a moment before she turned on the faucet, bent over and washed out her mouth. Once the taste of vomit was out of her mouth, she swallowed a couple of handfuls of water. Hopefully that would help her stomach calm down.

She stood up, and as hesitant as she was to go back to that room, she looked up and faced the clown. But the clown wasn't looking at her; he was looking down at the floor, slowing shaking his head back and forth. Just as she was about to say that she was okay, the clown did the most unexpected thing.

Looking up at Michaela, he raised his arm suddenly and swiftly and punched her square in the jaw.

Michaela gasped and fell back against the sink, her hand flying to her aching jawbone, the other reaching out to grip the counter to break her fall. She looked down at the floor, focusing on nothing but the pain throbbing in her jaw and wondering why the hell the clown had done that, but when she looked up at him, giving him a blood-curdling scowl, he was suddenly on top of her, his hands clasping around her throat and squeezing.

Michaela tried to scream but it was impossible. Her arms thrashed and she tried to kick her legs but the clown held her face and pressed his strong thumbs against her windpipe. She gasped for breath but she was completely cut off; she was staring up into the face of the clown, wondering if this was how she was going to go.

"Mother_fucking asshole_!" The clown snarled as she squeezed Michaela's neck. "How the _fuck_ could he just _do that to Bob_?"

If Michaela wasn't focusing on trying to get breath into her body, she would have taken into consideration the fact that the clown wasn't really strangling her out of spite; he was _pissed_. Pissed at the Joker for killing Bob.

Nevertheless, she continued to thrash. She tried to scream; perhaps if she screamed the Joker would come rushing in, see the clown trying to suffocate her, and shoot the clown dead just like he did to Bob.

As her vision began to fade, and her limbs were going weak with lack of oxygen, she heard the bathroom door open.

It was the other clown. "Vance, you better get the hell out here. Boss wants you back in there pronto!"

The clown paused, and he bowed his head. "_Shit_." He spat, and released Michaela.

She collapsed down to the floor, coughing and heaving in gasps of air through her bruised windpipe. Her vision doubled for a second, probably adjusting to the flow of oxygen again, and she put her arms out in front of her to maintain her balance. She coughed forcefully and heaved until it seemed her lungs were functioning again. Within a few moments she was able to calm herself down as much as she could without having a complete panic attack.

"Come on," the clown spat, gripping her arm and forcing her up to her feet. She didn't protest. She followed the clown out through the door, walking gingerly down the hallway as he led her back into the room.

Michaela was completely discombobulated by the time the clown brought her into the room. She noticed Dorian was looking at her with wide eyes, and much to her surprise the Joker was standing up and pacing around the room.

As they came stomping in, the Joker turned around to face them, giving the clown a rather displeased look. "It's _about time_, didn't I say just for…"

The Joker's voice trailed out as the clown pushed Michaela down onto the carpet. She hardly noticed that she had hit the floor and was sitting down even. Her body was slowly adjusting to the intake of oxygen and she felt almost drunk in a not too pleasant way.

She stared at the floor as the room suddenly went eerily quiet. All she could do was try to pace herself; she felt dizzy and lost and completely discombobulated. Once again the overwhelming smell of blood made her nauseous. She hoped, _prayed_, that she wouldn't throw up again; she didn't think her system could handle it.

Suddenly, as though things couldn't get any worse, another hand gripped her arm and wrenched her up to her feet. Her head swimming, she stood up on her feet and tried to adjust her eyes to whomever it was that was gripping her arm.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark eyes of the Joker; he was literally sticking his face right in hers, and although she couldn't understand what he was looking at, she instantly looked away so she wouldn't have to see his face.

"Hey, Mi-kay-lah, look at me." The Joker requested in a calm whisper.

She simply couldn't. Her head felt heavy and she felt that if she looked into the Joker's eyes once more, she was going to start crying and never, ever stop. She felt it was safest, since the Joker seemed to be in such a murderous mood, not to make eye contact with him.

But then he painfully tightened his grip on her arm. "_**Look at me**_**!" **he roared.

His voice filled the room and made her shake, and she knew that if she didn't comply he was just as likely to shoot her just as he shot Bob. Swallowing against her sore throat, she raised her head slowly, looking up into the Joker's face, her eyes connecting with his black eyes for only a split second.

She watched as his eyes focused on something else on her face, squinting a little as though he was trying to figure out something. And then he drew his head back, and his eyes were filled with rage, and without looking into her eyes for another moment, he released his hold on her and she went tumbling down to the carpet like a rag doll.

Dorian helped her sit up, and just as she had figured out what had happened, she looked up and watched as the Joker stormed up to clown named Vance.

Vance, who immediately detected that he was in for a _world _of trouble, put his hands up innocently, trying to deter the Joker's wrath. "Whoa, boss hey, I didn't freakin' touch her!"

The Joker gripped his suit in both fists and pounded him up against the nearest wall. Michaela watched, completely shell-shocked at what was happening. The other clown was standing off to the side, looking both conflicted and wanting to stay out of the way.

The Joker licked his scars and glared through the clown mask. "If I lose _one more hostage_ because of you _idiots_, I'm gonna kill _you _and put _your _death all over the _national news!_" He growled furiously; it was making the clown, and everyone else in the room, shiver. "I need these hostages in _pristine_ condition, or did you forget that-ah, _part of the plan_?"

Vance seemed to be taking the Joker's words into consideration. Slowly he started to nod his head. "I-I'm sorry boss. I-It won't happen again."

"Oh, _I know it won't_." The Joker said, and released Vance, but he continued to glare at him as though he wanted to kill him more than anything. Without another word from anyone, the Joker turned his back on Vance and went back towards the TV.

Michaela watched as the two clowns started talking to each other in low, hurried voices. The clown named Vance was obviously irked by the Joker's assault on him; even with the mask, she could tell he was furious. The clowns walked off towards the far corner, distancing themselves from the Joker.

Leaning back against the leather chair, Michaela tried to relax. Dorian leaned close to her and whispered. "Are you okay?"

Without saying anything, she nodded. She closed her eyes; she wanted to sleep more than anything. She was so exhausted from the trauma of the day. If she was asleep, she wouldn't have to look at the bodies lying not too far from her, and she wouldn't have to look at the Joker. And the time would go by faster.

She rested her head back against the soft leather of the chair and closed her eyes. The smell of blood continued to upset her but she tried not to let it get to her. She let out a deep breath and tried to relax enough to fall asleep.

But then, as her eyes were closed, she could hear one of the clowns slowly approach the desk where the Joker was sitting.

"Hey boss," it was the other clown, not Vance. She could tell by the difference in his voice. "That the third hostage?"

The Joker chuckled deep in his throat. "Haha…_yeah_."

Michaela opened her eyes and looked up towards the television. There was another hostage video, but she turned her eyes away. She didn't want to see it. But was it the _third hostage_? Really? She stole a glance at her watch and saw that yes, it was past 2 o'clock, and she let out a heavy sigh as she realized two more hostages had lost their lives at the hand of this madman.

"So what'll we do when the last one's done?" The clown asked quietly, as though he didn't want to further induce the Joker's rage.

But it sounded like the Joker was still in fairly bad spirits from what had happened over the past couple of hours. He smacked his lips in an irritated way. "We ah, _blow up the bank_."

Michaela's eyes widened. Had she really just heard that? Once all four hostages were dead, he was going to blow up the bank? Were they being held in a bank?

The realization slowly came over her. It was just like Dorian had said; the Joker split them all up into groups of four and probably placed them in different areas around the city. The first was in a bank, and once all four hostages were dead, he was going to blow up the bank. Were the other groups in banks too?

But…if she and Dorian and the other two hostages that were still alive were here at Wayne Enterprises, did that mean that if the Batman didn't show up at all…the Joker would kill them and then blow up _Wayne Enterprises_?

She rose her eyes and stared at the Joker as she heard him chuckle a little more. He swiveled on his seat and turned to the clown. "It's all…_part of the plan_."

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**A/N: Sorry it wasn't a new chapter, guys. I hope this version of chapter four works a little better. The next chapter should be coming soon. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: FYI, revisions have been made to Chapter Four. Check it out! **

Special thanks to **crystalstars88, Mrs. Twilight, Pavi's Girl, SatanReaper666, kennyx, anna, **and **HoistTheColours** for your reviews! Enjoy the update, guys!

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**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Five**

**/****  
**

Michaela must have dozed off. For what seemed to be a split second, she was standing upright in a small cramped dressing room, modeling a one-piece black swimsuit with her hands on her hips and scowling at herself in the full-length mirror. She didn't know why but she felt completely uncomfortable; maybe it was because she hadn't shaved her legs in almost two weeks. Maybe it was because her butter arms looked too fat. Either way, she slumped her shoulders, defeated, and heard a knock on the door.

She caught a glimpse of Roger's bright blue jeweled eyes, and the grin that spread on that cheeky face of his as he beheld her, scowling and miserable, in a suit he donned "a winner". She heard him laugh and was about to smack him playfully and shove him out of her dressing room when suddenly-

Michaela gasped a little as she jerked forward, waking herself up. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the room, save for the glare from the television. But as she looked up the screen was blessedly blocked by the wide silhouette of the Joker, sitting on the desk, watching obsessively. Taking in a deep breath and, because for a moment she had convinced herself that she was safe and trying on swimsuits with Roger, she slowly allowed herself to realize, once again, the extremity of the situation she was in.

Slumping back against the leather chair that she had fallen asleep against, she looked to her right to see that Dorian too had fallen asleep, with his head resting back against the armrest of another chair. Michaela rolled up the sleeve on her jacket to check the time, absent-mindedly as though she were waiting for the bus or something. It was 2: 39 in the morning, and soon the Joker would eliminate the fourth hostage and destroy the bank that they had been held in.

She wanted to let out a groan of frustration, anger, humility, and exhaustion, but she knew such an expression would attract the Joker's attention. Michaela knew she had already had plenty of _that_ for the night. Instead she stretched out her cramped legs and tilted her head back, bored and aggravated.

Michaela missed Roger more than anything now. She wondered where he was. Was he at home, having made his television appearance, and now he was lying wide awake in bed watching the TV for any development? Maybe he was at the police station trying to find out what the Gotham police were doing to help the situation. Either way she knew he was probably anxious, sleep-deprived, and totally out of his mind with worry.

If only she could talk to him, even if it was just on the phone for like a second, even if she had to stand there with the Joker breathing over her, making sure she didn't give out their location. All she wanted was to call him, hear his voice, and assure him that so far she was okay, despite the fact that she had witnessed three cold-blooded murders, one being purely accidental but nonetheless brutal, nearly died of strangulation in the bathroom, and was officially on the Joker's personal hit-list; there was no doubt in her mind that he was scheming the very worst way to kill her and broadcast her gruesome death all over the news, punishing Roger for his gall and warning Gotham that the Joker was back and as bad as they remembered.

She suddenly remembered something. She was aching to talk to Roger, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. She had a feeling that if she quietly and politely asked the Joker to use the phone to tell her boyfriend goodbye, he'd probably shove her through that picture window and she'd fall to her death. Even if she couldn't talk to him, she did have a picture of Roger, and right now she wanted to look at it more than anything.

The only problem was that the photo was in her purse. Scanning the room quickly, she beheld her purse lying on the ground only a few feet from her, its contents spilling out and lying untouched and unbothered. She remembered it had fallen out of her lap when she had tried to run from the Joker; obviously she hadn't needed it since. But it was too far away to reach and pull over; she'd have to stand up and pick it up.

Michaela sucked in a breath and spied the Joker warily out of the corner of her eye. He remained unmoved, sitting in front of the TV and watching obsessively. If it wasn't for the haunting deep chuckle he let out of his throat every now and then, she would have assumed that he had fallen asleep.

She looked towards the clowns, who had retreated back to their leather chairs ever since the incident that had happened in the bathroom. She watched them for moments and noticed that they remained perfectly still and their heads were bowed, the chins of the clown masks touching their chests. They must have been asleep as well.

Michaela observed her fellow captives. Dorian was still asleep, and so were the other two uniformed men. Her purse was lying so close to the last man; she wondered if it would have been wiser just to wake him up and ask him to hand her the purse. But the more she thought about it, she figured it would cause more attention then was welcome at that point.

Sighing heavily, Michaela looked up at the Joker once more, but still he hadn't moved. Looking at the clowns, they too hadn't moved at all. Feeling her first ounce of courage in quite awhile, she quietly kicked off her stilettos that were digging into her poor feet, and as carefully and as quietly as she could, she got onto her hands and knees and very, very, _very_ carefully made her way towards her purse.

The desk and the Joker were so close now; if he happened to turn around and look at her, he'd probably come to the conclusion that she was trying to sneak out. And then maybe he really would carve her face up. But as she slowly made her way past Dorian, she looked up over her shoulder; still the Joker remained frozen.

Holding her breath so she wouldn't make a sound, she moved her hands along the carpet and kept her eyes fixed on her purse. She just needed to grab it and pull it to her; bugger the contents that had fallen out, so long as she had her wallet, which was all she needed. Her eyes lifted and she watched the clowns; the one was starting to snore quietly, and the other one was just frozen in sleep. Finding that her mouth had gone dry, Michaela swallowed urgently and continued to move forward to grab her purse.

She moved past the first uniformed man, who was sleeping with his head back and his mouth wide open. She would have snickered if she wasn't so frightened about making noise at that moment. Sliding her hands along the carpet, she bit down into her lower lip, determined not to make a sound, as she came closer and closer to her purse.

The second uniformed man had his head bowed so she could really only see the top of his head and his thick black hair. He had his hands sprawled out at his sides; it looked like the most uncomfortable way to sleep, but she figured if it worked, it worked. Careful not to nudge his feet, and looking to make sure the clowns were still asleep, she looked at her purse, only an arms length away, and she conjured up all the strength in her at that moment to reach forward and try and grab it.

It was just slightly out of reach, but she was very conscious about moving any more. It was as if she suspected a siren was going to go off in the room the moment her hands slid along the carpet again. Her knees were beginning to ache; carpet and pantyhose was not a comfortable mix. But she was so close; she just had to move a little more and then it would be hers once again.

She was reaching for it, stretching out her arm painfully, when suddenly one of the clowns snorted himself out of sleep. She froze, looked up at him, and her heart dropped into her stomach as his clown mask looked up and right at her, and he was on his feet in an instant.

"Hey, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" The clown snarled at her in the darkness.

Michaela was literally frozen where she was. She could have reached forward and taken her purse in her hand and dealt with the consequences in a minute, but for some reason her arm just wouldn't respond to her demands. The commotion had awaken the second clown, but he didn't seem as perturbed by the fact she was crawling on her hands and knees and leaning towards the forgotten leather purse on the ground.

The first clown, the one that had tried to strangle her in the bathroom, the one called Vance, picked up his gun and marched towards her. She recoiled from him as he snatched her arm and forced her up to her feet, probably so he could tower over her and intimidate her. Michaela winced as he felt his iron grip on her arm. She figured by the end of the night, she was going to have a few nasty finger-shaped bruises.

Vance shoved his masked face right in hers. "I'll not gonna ask again, what the _hell _were you doing?"

Michaela tensed as suddenly she heard the sound of weight shifting on wood from behind her. She could feel the Joker's black eyes drilling into her, watching the commotion but at that moment choosing not to do anything about it. From what she could tell, the Joker was simply watching, but knowing that at any moment he could intervene made her tremble even more.

Swallowing, and more aware than ever that Vance had his gun pointed right at her face, she looked into the eyeholes of the mask, although she couldn't see the human eyes looking at her. "I-I was just trying to…to get my purse."

She nodded to it on the floor, and Vance looked down at it for a moment before looking back at her. "Yeah, what for? Got a knife stashed in there or something?"

Michaela cringed at the hostility in his voice. She wondered if he was still pissed off because he had gotten into trouble for trying to strangle her in the bathroom. Slowly she shook her head. "No, I just…I just wanted my Tic-Tacs."

Vance made a sound of discontent in his throat, and for a moment he looked over Michaela's shoulder, probably looking to get approval from the Joker. Michaela stood nervously, thinking that maybe the Joker wouldn't allow her to have her purse back, but she was pleasantly surprised as Vance bent over to pick up her purse and, throwing the gun over his shoulder by its strap, he started to loot through it. Michaela felt agitated as he was so callously going through her bag but she figured it would be best not to make a snappy remark. She could still feel the Joker's eyes watching her and it made her blood run cold.

Vance shuffled through her bag, probably making sure that she didn't have any form of weapon concealed beneath all the other crap in it. He started tossing things out of her purse; first her sunglasses in its case, then a shiny tube of lipstick she'd just bought, the coaster she'd stolen from the restaurant at lunch, her day timer, and her birth control pills (which made her go red in the face). He seemed contented but then he pulled out her nail file and gave her a cold glare. She could feel it even through the mask.

Taking the nail file, he shoved the purse into her arms. She cradled it like a baby and stared at him. "Go sit down." He ordered, and chucked the nail file into a nearby trash can.

Michaela turned away from him instantly. She hated that clown mask worse than anything. It would have been totally different if she was looking at a human face; at least then she would have known that Vance was actually human. The clown mask was concrete and hard and she hated having it shoved in her face. She hated an expression she couldn't read.

As she slowly made her way back to her seat, she felt determined not to look at the Joker, who was still so obviously staring at her. She looked down to make sure she wasn't going to trip over anyone's legs, and as she looked up, their eyes connected, as they always seemed to do.

The Joker was regarding her with curiosity. With the glare of the TV, she could really see his eyes past his makeup, dead as night, calculating, and fixed right with hers, never relenting. But even his curious gaze was stained with a hint of warning, a sinister look just to remind her not to try anything funny.

Michaela wanted to nod, just to let him know that all was understood, but she couldn't even do that. She was fixed with his gaze, and she noticed that even sitting down on the desk, if she had gotten any closer to him, he would have towered over her.

Finally she pulled her eyes away from him and hurried to sit down in her seat. She let out a sigh of relief and hugged her purse against her body for comfort. Looking up she watched as the Joker's gaze now became fixed to the television screen. The clowns had gone back to their leather chairs and were talking lowly to each other.

Without wasting another moment, Michaela reached into her purse and dug around for her wallet. She didn't know why she had such a large purse; all she did was fill it with crap and then she could never find anything. After fishing around for a moment, she finally dug out her long, light green leather wallet and opened it hurriedly. She opened the cash sleeve and found what she was looking for: a picture of her and Roger taken on that past New Years.

She let out a sigh of happiness and smiled as she stared at the picture. Luckily the glare from the TV had given her more than enough light to see it properly. She and Roger were dressed to kill; he looked very dashing in his black suit and she was dressed in a very revealing and rather expensive blue dress that her mother insisted she buy for the occasion. They had had dinner at one of the most elitist restaurants in the city (Roger complained it had taken him two months to get a reservation) and the meal cost a small fortune, but it was well worth it.

Her eyes fixed on Roger's handsome face. He really had the bluest eyes; it was as if someone had taken two of the seven seas and had crafted them and woven them into eyes, and Roger was the lucky one to have gotten them. He had the most incredible smile, with such perfect white teeth, and she noticed that in this picture he was clean-shaven, although now he had a bit of a goatee. They were hugging together in the picture, looking like a handsome couple. If Michaela concentrated she could almost recall that very moment, and smell the hypnotic scent of the cologne he was wearing, the cologne she had given him for Christmas.

All of a sudden, her wonderful moment was interrupted by the sharp, enigmatic laughter of the Joker. Michaela jumped and looked up. The clowns had hurried to the Joker's side, watching the TV, and Michaela wanted to stand up and get a good look at what was happening. Beside her, Dorian awoke with a start and made a grumbling sound in his throat.

"What's going on?" He whispered to her.

She put her up fingers to silence him, but she was trying to look past the Joker to see the TV. All she could make out was blurry footage. The volume was down so low that she couldn't hear it.

Hurriedly Michaela rolled up her sleeve and looked at her watch. It was 3:00.

"_**Heeeeere we go**_, here we go, here we go, here we go." The Joker chanted gleefully, literally jumping from where he was sitting on the desk. Michaela moved forward and tried to look around him to see the TV. Again all she could really make out was blurred footage. It must have been the hostage video-

Michaela suddenly screamed as a crashing **BOOM **erupted in her ears and the entirely of the building started to shake. Michaela could feel the harsh vibration in the floor beneath her and she could hear the explosion as though it were the building right next to them. Her eyes glued on the TV, she watched as the hostage footage suddenly seemed to burst into flame and smoke. The clowns reacted by clutching the rim of the desk and trying to hold themselves still as the very room they were all in started to shake violently. The two uniformed men woke suddenly and started screaming. Looking up, Michaela beheld the Joker was laughing and laughing, almost uncontrollably.

The sounds of the explosion didn't wear off for moments. She heard the exploding glass, marble, concrete, and all other materials, and since the explosion affected the Wayne tower, she figured the bank must have been close. It must have been downtown somewhere. Michaela instantly looked to the window, wondering if she could see anything if she looked out. If anything she would probably see the flames, if the bank was nearby.

The shaking subsided and so did the sounds of the explosion. Suddenly everything was the way it was. Looking up she saw that the hostage footage on the TV was gone; all that was left was a very pale, very frightened-looking Jack Ryder.

In a moment Michaela could hear the sirens. There must have been a dozen fire trucks racing to the burning ruins of the bank. There was no doubt in her mind that it was nearby. It was too bad she didn't know the area enough to figure out just which bank it might have been.

The Joker was laughing hysterically. His laugh was sharp and shrill and it flooded the room and bounced off the walls, hitting Michaela's ears and making her wince. The clowns relaxed, standing up straight and looking at the TV report. Jack Ryder, still looking wizened and sick, reported to his viewers that a bank had exploded, that the GFD was on its way to the sight to put out the flame, and the GPD was working with more incentive then ever to find out the whereabouts of the Joker, which only made the Joker laugh harder.

Michaela sighed heavily. Four hostages dead, one venue destroyed. This was going to be the pattern for the next twenty hours.

The two uniformed men started talking to each other in low, hurried voices, and Dorian was staring at the television with a hard look of hatred on his face. Michaela looked at him and shook her head at him. "You were right. He's taking them out group by group."

Dorian looked like he was ready to kill someone. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest and started to chew nervously at his thumbnail. Michaela stared at him quizzically. "Dorian?"

He shook his head. "My wife works at the Bank of Gotham."

Michaela sucked in a horrified breath, but then she realized that his wife probably wasn't working at three in the morning. "But…she'd be at home, wouldn't she?"

"That's not the point." Dorian growled angrily. "This bullshit of his is going to carry on long into the day. Suppose he saved the bank for…for noon, or whatever! You understand what I'm saying?" He looked at her and he was seriously furious. "In four hours, people are going to start going to work without knowing where the other hostages are and what buildings he's targeted."

Michaela let this information sink in. She had the feeling that once people found out what was going on in the night, and that the Joker had blown up a bank, the Gotham public was probably going to take a mental health day and avoid the public areas and the buildings downtown. But that was pretty unrealistic. Would the city really shut down with the Joker blowing up random buildings?

Michaela closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "More people are going to die."

"Exactly." Dorian snarled, and looked back towards the TV. "A _lot_ more people."

Michaela leaned back against the chair, desperately trying to block her ears from the Joker's laughter, and looked down at the picture she'd been grasping. She'd clutched it so hard that it was now practically morphed. She tried to smooth out the edges and continued to stare at Roger's face.

_I hope to Hell you're at home. _Michaela prayed, and pressed the photograph against her heart.

**/**

The reaction to the explosion had been worse than Michaela initially thought. Once the clowns had decided to go back to their corner, she was able to see the TV a little more clearly; she just had to steer around the Joker's form. There was news footage of the bank, or rather what was left of the bank. It was still ablaze and firefighters were struggling to get it under control. From what Michaela could see, it was a large building and it had been completely destroyed. The camera was able to pick up the debris and rubble that littered the street in front of it. Everywhere there were firefighters trying to do their best to settle the flame down.

The newscast caught footage of citizens in nearby residences, who had obviously been awaken by the blast, fleeing their buildings in nothing but their pajamas and their robes carrying suitcases, clutching at their children or their pets, swarming out the doors to escape the mayhem. The Joker continued to laugh the entire time, and it made Michaela shake her head dismally. He was totally enjoying this; the city was soon to be up in arms and ablaze with fear, and the Joker loved every minute of it.

Four hostages dead, a bank destroyed, a city reduced to fear, and there was no sign anywhere of the Batman. It made Michaela wonder why the Joker seemed so sure the Batman would appear; it was entirely possible that the Batman had died or left Gotham entirely. Then again, even if Batman didn't show at all, the Joker would obviously delight in blowing things up and causing havoc in the city.

The room had settled since the explosion. The Joker was still glued to the television like a child watching his favourite cartoon. The clowns retreated to their corner and were speaking lowly to each other. Dorian was still fuming beside her, and Michaela figured it was better to let him stew rather then get him all riled up again. The two uniformed men were still talking lowly and quickly.

"You know I wasn't even gonna come in today," said the one man dismally. "I was gonna call in sick and hit the pool hall."

Not interested in their conversation, Michaela rubbed her eyes sleepily. She was more than awake now, but exhaustion was still heavy on her mind. She started to rummage through her purse again, this time she really was looking for her Tic-Tacs, and having found them, she popped open the little container and let them fall into her mouth. She figured the sugar in them would help keep her awake and focused for whatever was going to hit them next.

Michaela closed the little box and, turning to Dorian, she offered them up to him. He was still looking furious, and having eyed the box of Tic-Tacs she was offering, he put up his hand to turn them away. Michaela wondered if she should offer any to the two uniformed men, but they seemed far too engrossed in their conversation to worry about being offered Tic-Tacs. Sighing in defeat, she put them back in her purse, and started to crunch on the Tic-Tacs in her mouth.

As she crunched on, she opened her purse and began to root through it once more. She was secretly overjoyed to have it back; during the worst of times a woman's purse seemed to be a treasure box of new discoveries. She rummaged through, trying to be as quiet as possible, and her fingers grazed her pocket mirror. Pulling it out, she flipped it open and stared at her face in the little mirror.

Michaela scowled. Mascara stains had run all the way down her cheeks in dark, faded waterfall patterns. Just how long had she been looking like that, she wondered. She licked her fingertips and tried to wash away the mascara stains on her cheeks, raw from tears. She sighed heavily, anxiously rubbing at the mascara stains on her face, relieved when they started to disappear.

She paused as her eyes caught a discolouration on her chin. It was a small yellow spot, and she winced with pain as she swept her thumb over it. Great, she was going to have a great big bruise on her chin, right where Vance had punched her. Suppose she got out of this mess alive, how long was that bruise going to be there? Then again she figured she didn't have to worry about it.

As she tried to distract herself from the bruise and worked away at the last of the mascara stains, Michaela noticed that the two uniformed men, who had been chatting for awhile now, were suddenly getting into a very heated discussion. She leaned forward to see them a little clearly. Their quiet little chat was turning into a full blown fight.

Michaela snapped her mirror shut, tossed it in her purse, and continued to look at them. Even Dorian turned to watch them over his shoulder as they increasingly became more vocal, louder, and angrier.

"Oh _please_, I'm sure they've got the guys to disarm the system!"

"Uh, you do know that it was _Lucius Fox_ that designed that system, right dumb ass?"

The clowns were watching from the corner, and Michaela wanted to reach forward and tell them to shut up before they started to draw unnecessary attention. A ridiculous argument was not worth getting shot to death over. However, before anything could be done to warn them, they did the unthinkable; they both got up to their feet and started to shout at each other.

Michaela stared up at them helplessly. Had they not learned anything from the events of the past four hours? The Joker and his crones were not the people to screw around with and here they were going to have a great big fight right in front of them. Both the clowns got to their feet and were telling them to shut up and sit down. Even the Joker, slightly perturbed by the noise because he probably couldn't hear the TV, turned and looked at them over his shoulder, a look of dangerous annoyance lingered painted face.

The argument was becoming so heated that it looked like at any moment it would erupt into a fist fight. They stepped over Michaela, so that now they were wandering more towards the desk the Joker was sitting on, and then further still they were drifting towards the window, looking like they would start shoving and pushing each other.

Behind her, Dorian moved back as they drifted towards the window, screaming and shouting at each other. Michaela followed suit, backing up so she could watch them in horror as their fight escalated in front of the window. She watched as the clowns approached them with their guns held high, giving them loud threats and warnings, and the Joker had turned in his seat to give them his full attention, but so far he hadn't moved.

"**What the hell are you talking about? If you hadn't let him in, we wouldn't be in this mess**!" The one uniformed man screamed at his partner, waving an arm in his face.

"**Yeah well if only you were paying attention, maybe you'd realize that this is all your fault-" **

The clowns were shouting at them too, but the two men seemed to ignore them or didn't even see them. Instinctively Michaela got to her feet to watch the whole scene play out. She looked at the Joker, who was snickering as he was sitting on the desk. The two clowns continued to threaten the two men with their guns, but they just continued to scream and shout at each other.

_Good God_¸ Michaela thought, shaking her head. _Hostage deaths, a bank blown up, a near-death experience, and now this bullshit! What the hell-_

Then, for a split second, Michaela watched as one of the uniformed men looked right past her, presumably at Dorian. She couldn't be sure, but she thought that for a fleeting moment, that look in his eyes was not unlike…a signal.

It was then she felt fingers clawing at her arm. Michaela looked over her shoulder and Dorian was standing behind her, staring straight ahead of her, watching the two men fight, watching as the clowns tried to break them up, and the Joker was too distracted watching the entire ordeal with a delighted look on his painted face. She suddenly realized that they were close enough to the door that they could turn and run right through.

"Michaela, come on." Dorian whispered and continued to claw at her arm. Instinctively she found herself taking steps away from the fight and back towards Dorian and the door where they could make their escape. Everyone had their backs to them, even the Joker; and it was the Joker's back she watched until Dorian pulled on her arm and they quickly ran out of the room and into the hallway.

Instantly she had known it was a mistake. Dorian was gun-hoe, but Michaela knew it was a stupid mistake the second they were through the door; it seemed like a great idea when they were still inside the room with the fight going on, but now that they were outside, all she could hear was the fight and it made her more nervous then ever.

"Dorian, what are we doing?" Michaela hissed frantically, looking behind her to make sure they weren't being followed. "He'll notice we're gone and they'll look for us!"

"Just don't worry about it." Dorian said in an annoyed tone. She found it impossible not to worry that the clowns would obviously come looking for them, ultimately find them, and take them back to the Joker for punishment. Nevertheless, she was quick on his heels and followed him down the hallway, desperate for an escape.

Dorian opened the door farthest down the hall, and it opened to a large office space filled with desks and computers and cubicle walls separating everything. Picture windows lined the far wall, letting in plenty of light from neighbour skyscrapers. Dorian rushed her inside and closed the door behind them.

This was most definitely _not_ her idea of escaping. She would have found a stairwell, or an elevator, and gotten down to the ground floor and taken off outside the nearest door or window. This was a wide office, sure, but they were trapped. The clowns would come looking for them and find them right away.

"Dorian this is a dead end! Let's find an elevator or something-"

But as she turned to talk to Dorian, she discovered his facial expression was hard like steel, and he pushed past her further into the room and disappeared somewhere in the darkness. Apparently he wasn't too keen on escaping at all. Michaela presumed he was going to call his wife.

Michaela stood there, dumbfounded. This was so dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. She turned around and looked at the door and figured that maybe, maybe if she carefully made her way back into the room, the clowns and the Joker wouldn't have noticed she was gone at all. It was farfetched, she knew. But wouldn't it be worth a try?

But then her breath caught in her throat as she realized that if she was super quick (because no doubt the clowns would be combing around for them), she _could_ call Roger.

Without thinking of the repercussions of their daring escape attempt, Michaela hurried into the dark room, passing computers and desks and plants and filing cabinets. She looked behind her at the door to make sure the coast was clear; she finally picked a secluded, out of the way desk and reached for the telephone.

Michaela smiled as her fingers grazed the keys of the telephone. She lifted the receiver and pressed it to her ear; she didn't consider that no one had bothered to cut the phone lines, but that hardly seemed to matter now. Without missing a beat, she dialed a number she knew off by heart. Sinking down against the desk to the floor so she'd be out of sight, she anxiously pulled on the phone cord as she listened to it ring once…and then twice…and then-

"Yeah?" Came the hurried, slightly irritated voice of the person on the other end.

Michaela squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sigh of sheer happiness. She felt like she would start to cry. All night she had felt fear unlike ever before, and it was all forgotten with just the sound of that voice.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "…Hello?"

"Roger, it's me." She whispered, cupping her free hand around the speaker.

Once again there was a pause on the other end of the phone, and then everything that was spoken came at a mile a minute in a raised, desperate tone. "Michaela, _what the fuck? Are you okay?_"

It was so wonderful to hear his handsome voice. She sunk down to the floor, her back against the desk, and she wanted to cry so damn much with happiness but she tried hard not to.

"Jesus, Mickey, I saw you on that tape, and I…I-" Roger was rushed and panicky, but she could hear that little unmistakable tinge of happiness in his voice, the same that was in hers.

As much as she just wanted to listen to the beautiful sound of his voice, to delude herself that everything was going to be okay, she knew that this was maybe her only chance to warn anyone about what the Joker was planning. She straightened up where she sat, and leaned forward to husk her voice a little more.

"Roger." She said clearly into the phone, trying to get his attention. "Roger, listen to me. I'm in the Wayne Enterprises building. I'm being held by the Joker-"

"Oh my god!" Roger interrupted, sounding scared.

"Roger just listen!" She whispered, and then she stretched her neck up to make sure the coast was still clear. If she was going to release this information to him, she needed to make sure no one else was overhearing. It was her only hope for a rescue. Once it seemed like the room was deserted, save for Dorian somewhere in the room, she settled back against the desk and took a breath. "Are you close to police?"

"Uh, yeah…" Roger said hurriedly into the phone, stumbling as though trying to search his memory. "I talked to a, uh, Commissioner Gordon's office."

Michaela smiled to herself and nodded, even though Roger couldn't see her. "Perfect, that's perfect…look. Tell them that we're here at Wayne Enterprises. I don't know what floor we're on…but we're here. The Joker is here. Get the cops to come to Wayne Enterprises."

"Yeah, okay…" There was a pause, and then a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "Mickey?"

Michaela smiled sadly to herself. She loved when he called her that; when they had first met, he joked that her name was way too long to pronounce (which of course was a bullshit ploy to be flirtatious) so he had to give her a nickname. He was the only person that ever called her that; it was her own little name and it was all hers from the man she loved most in the world. The sound of his voice saying her name made her heart melt; she promised that if she ever escaped, she would run to Roger's arms and kiss his face for as long as she could before he got sick of it and pushed her off him.

"Yeah?" She asked, somewhat dreamily, relishing in the sound of his voice.

"Mickey, has he hurt you?" Roger was sounding apprehensive now; there was the slightest sound of fear in his voice. He wanted to know but at the same time, maybe he didn't want to know. "Has he done anything to you?"

Michaela pushed the events of the evening out of her head, determined that they were not important right then.

"Mickey I keep seeing the videos on the news, and every hour without Batman, I'm worried it's going to be you-" His voice trailed out and she heard what she thought sounded like a sob escape his throat and make it through to her on the other line.

She really, really, _really_ wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms. She closed her eyes tight and pressed her lips together to keep from crying. "It won't be, he's going to eliminate the hostages group by group, its all-"

Suddenly, as she was talking, she heard a dial tone in her ear. She opened her eyes as the realization slowly came over him. The call was gone; Roger was gone.

Michaela raised her head up to check that the coast was clear before she risked dialing his number again. Abruptly she came face to face with a clown mask and the barrel of a gun. Pausing in fear, she let the phone slip from her hands and her eyes settled on the finger that pressed down on the "release call" button.

"I don't recall giving you permission to use the phone." The clown growled down at her, tapping the side of his gun as a warning.

Michaela swallowed and got up to her feet, looking down at the floor. _Goddamn it_, she thought, as the clown gripped her arm and pulled her away from the desk, towards the doors were they had come in; back to the Joker.

**/**


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to **crystalstars88, Pavi's Girl, anna, Mrs. Twilight, Namesless Grace, HoistTheColours, SatanReaper666, Hollywoodlover95, Mad-Dog-GXO, YolandaFriella and corbsxx **for your reviews! Sorry about the wait, this chapter is long overdue.

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Six**

**/**

As she was pulled out of the office and harshly dragged down the brightly-lit hallway by the clown who was gripping her arm unnecessarily hard, Michaela knew that this was what it was like to be a prisoner on death row. Having had her last meal (in this case, her last conversation with the man she loved), she was now walking towards her execution.

The door was in view, a few seconds and they'd be through. Michaela started to breathe heavily as every possible worst case scenario ran through her mind. Roger's public appeal for her safety had pissed off the Joker enough, but now she was guilty of trying to escape him altogether, adding to her list of offenses. She really, really, _really_ hoped the clown hadn't heard the part of their conversation in which Michaela had revealed their location; surely the clown would be only too happy to offer that information to the Joker, and then who knew what he would do.

What to do, what to do? Was there anything she could do? Perhaps she could kick the clown in the junk and waste no time in flying down the nearest stairwell? Perhaps she could pretend to faint; she was fairly sure the Joker would want her to be awake when he killed her, so that she could scream louder, struggle frantically, and maybe bleed a little harder. She could pretend to faint and feign unconsciousness until the Batman came!

As they neared the door, Michaela looked around for anything that might help her. She searched for a fire extinguisher, a water fountain, something she could grab and hang on to, something she could pick up and throw, anything. Anything!

But all efforts were futile. Her heart was racing when the clown pushed the door open and shoved her through, like shoving a lamb into the lion's cage.

The first thing Michaela noticed was the two uniformed men sitting at the far end of the room against the picture window, their knees drawn up to their chests. They both looked relatively horrified; the one was nursing a bleeding cut just above his right eyebrow. Michaela figured one of the clowns had hit his head with the butt of a gun in a way to shut them both up during their fight. She was relieved that neither of them had been killed.

The second thing she noticed was Dorian, standing upright and only a few feet away from her, the second clown stood next to him and had his gun pointed at Dorian's head the entire time. Dorian was red in the face from anger, and his hands hanging at his sides were curled into fists and trembling. He acknowledged that she had been brought in but he would not look at her, and it made Michaela feel even more abandoned.

Finally, and the most horrible thing she noticed, was that the Joker was no longer sitting down on the desk. He was up, pacing the floor anxiously, and when she and the clown came into the room, he stopped pacing and stared at her.

Michaela's heart thundered against her chest as she realized what he was saying to her with his eyes. He had given her a fair warning, and she blatantly ignored him. Now she was going to pay the price for being such a disobedient hostage.

The clown came into the room and pushed her shoulder with the heel of his hand, making Michaela jump and her eyes turned to the carpet to escape the Joker's gaze. "They were in one of the offices, boss."

Michaela winced as the clown gripped her bruised arm and squeezed. "_This_ one was using a phone."

There was dead, quiet silence in the room. Michaela trembled, stared down at the carpet, knowing she was about to face her doom, until she heard the Joker's unusually high-pitched voice perk with interest. "_Really_?"

Michaela looked up and her eyes widened in horror as the Joker grinned a little bit. What was funny about the fact she had been using a phone? Or was he really smiling because he found it amusing? Maybe he was smiling just to spite himself. Either way, the Joker started to approach her slowly. He had his eyes on her and they wouldn't move; all she could do was stare as her heart dropped into her stomach and she felt all the blood leave her face.

The Joker approached her until he stood within arms reach of her. She felt like she was shrinking under his towering height; she didn't know why but the way he towered over her always made her feel small and helpless. His taunting little smile was soon gone and he was looking at her with laughter in his eyes.

"So ah, who were you calling, Mi-_kay_-_**lah**_?" The Joker asked, his voice high and nasal, almost mocking and sing-song. The informality of the question made her wonder if she had really heard him correctly. Then again she figured that he wanted to make sure she hadn't been calling the police to reveal their location.

Michaela swallowed, discovering that her throat was painfully dry, and told him the truth. She figured if she told him the truth, the guilt wouldn't show as badly on her face. "…My boyfriend."

The Joker laughed suddenly, an annoying high-pitched giggle, and she was taken aback because he was laughing right in her face, scaring the hell out of her. Michaela noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Dorian had turned his head and was looking right at her. She wished she could have seen the look he was giving her, but she didn't dare look away from the Joker.

When it seemed he had gotten the last of the giggles out of him, the Joker swept his tongue over his scars and tilted his head a little, a teasing smile on his lips. "And what'd you say to him?"

Michaela frowned but figured once again that he just wanted to make sure she hadn't given away their location. This time, with a little conviction, she told a lie. "…I told him I loved him."

As she said these words, the light in the Joker's eyes changed. They perked to some degree, and his teasing little smile widened into a full yellow grin. As Michaela stared into his black eyes, wondering what the hell he thought was so damned amusing, she suddenly realized what she had just said.

She had Roger on the phone…she actually had him on the _phone_! What had she told him? Did she tell him that she wished she hadn't covered Jamie's shift tonight? Did she tell him that she was dying for a piece of pizza when she got home? Did she tell him that she'd been staring at the picture of them at New Years and oh, wasn't that such a romantic evening? Did she tell him that when she saw his appeal on the television, her eyes had stung with tears because she was so happy he was there with her, even in television-esque spirit? Did she tell him about her dream where he had totally walked in on her in the dressing room while she was trying on swimsuits? Did she tell him that she was pining for him, missing him more then anything? Did she tell him she was going to die under the Joker's hand and she would never see him again? Did she tell him that she loved him? Did she?

No. No, no, no, no, no, no. She didn't tell Roger that she loved him. And what was worse? The Joker _knew_. He positively _knew_ she hadn't told Roger that she loved him. Somehow he knew and he was grinning because he knew he was taking advantage of both her fragile state of mind and her love for her boyfriend. She hadn't told Roger she loved him and immediately she felt like she was going to be sick.

Suddenly her legs felt like they would buckle under her weight. The realization came over her: she had Roger on the phone, spoke to him for the very last time…and she hadn't told him that she loved him.

"_Sooo_," the Joker drawled, staring at her with the same ever-knowing smile, his eyes narrowing a little bit. "You told him you _loved_ him, did you?"

He said it in half a cheery lilt and half in a sneer, the verbal equivalent of spitting in her face. Michaela wanted to burst into tears and shake her head, but she couldn't do that either. She stared at the Joker but not because he had her memorized, and not because he was frightening her. Michaela was _furious_; how she wished humans could combust and burst into flames when they got angry enough because it would sure be a way to send a message. Careful not to change any of her facial features, she narrowed her eyes to the Joker with all the anger and fury in her being.

_I hate you_. Oh, how Michaela longed to spew the words out at him. _I. Hate. You._

But instead, just to be safe, she stared at the Joker and lied again. "…_**Yes**_."

The Joker's toothy yellow smile turned into a long, lazy, smug grin, like he knew he had caught her in a telltale lie, and she hated him even more for it. He continued to smile at her and she felt the expression on her face sour as his black eyes stared at her, laughing at her.

Then, ever so suddenly and without warning, the Joker came towards her swiftly; Michaela, all feelings of anger tossed completely aside, gasped on first instinct and stepped back as though he were about to plunge a knife in her chest. Her heart thundered hard against her chest as he reached for her; she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to convince herself it would all be over soon, when she felt him grip her shoulder and pull her forward. Michaela took in a sharp breath as he coiled his arm around hers, not in an iron grip, but hard enough to ensure she wasn't going anywhere. She flinched hard as he pulled her right up against him, so they stood shoulder to shoulder.

"I think you better come sit with me, Mi-kay-lah," he said crisply into her ear, his hot breath making her shudder. "Since you seem to be too much for these clowns to handle."

He said it half at her and half over his shoulder to the clowns, probably because they had failed to keep her and Dorian from escaping. But that hardly mattered to Michaela; the only thing she was conscious of was how close the Joker was to her. She could feel the heat from his body, and the grip on her arm, however not painful, was like a shackle that she could not escape from. The smell of him flooded her nostrils instantly; he smelled like laundry detergent, probably from the suit, and the faintest spicy smell that was genuinely all male, which seemed fitting; she'd never expected someone like the Joker to go waltzing into a department store to buy a bottle of Armani cologne.

But then the Joker began to move quickly in long strides and Michaela struggled to keep up with him. Her legs felt like jelly, her feet were sore from the stilettos she had been wearing all day, and her entire body felt heavy. Her body screamed in agony as she moved with the Joker, who led her towards the desk. It was then she noticed the wheeled chair that had been pushed under the desk, and reaching over the Joker pulled it out, pushed it against the wall, and did all but shove Michaela down into it.

As soon as Michaela felt herself sink into the leather she sat upright, frozen, her eyes tilted down and fixing on the purple pants he was wearing as he towered over her for moments. She clutched the hem of her jacket so tightly between her hands that her knuckles went white.

With Michaela securely in the leather chair, not daring to move, the Joker turned away from her and wandered over towards Dorian. Michaela looked up, watching the Joker's purple-clad back as he moved away from her, and her eyes shifted to Dorian, who stood tall and unrelenting, his eyes cold and hard. She noticed suddenly that Joker and Dorian were nearly the same height, and for some reason it made her feel a little more secure.

"So ah," the Joker mused as he stepped in front of Dorian. "Who did _**you**_ call?"

Michaela leaned forward a little, barely able to hear them, and watched as Dorian breathed in sharply through his nose. "My wife."

Biting down on her lip, Michaela watched nervously as the Joker began to shift impatiently on his shift. "And uh, _what_ did you tell her?"

Dorian did nothing but stare with the same hard expression on his face. In fact it looked as though he was trying to keep from openly sneering at the Joker. He leaned forward a little bit towards the Joker. "_**Nothing**_. She was asleep."

Instantly Michaela knew it was a lie. He wouldn't have spent that much time on the phone to his wife if he couldn't get ahold of her. And the way he said it, with anger and the slightest hint of attitude, told Michaela that not only did he probably get ahold of her, but he probably told her to get the hell outta dodge.

Whether the Joker bought it or not was hard to tell. He continued dancing between his two feet with irritation, as though wondering whether or not to trust him. Then, the Joker seemed to have come to a conclusion.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "All right."

And he turned to one of his clowns, made a gesture with his thumb towards Dorian, and Michaela watched as the clown came forward, all of a sudden, and slammed the butt of his gun right into Dorian's nose.

Michaela screamed as she watched it happen. Dorian let out a cry that was more surprised then painful, and his hands went up to cover his face. Michaela watched in horror as he tried to keep his nose from bleeding, but blood was already starting to gush through his closed fingers. Then, in his bloodied state, the clowns forced him down towards his previous spot on the floor, where he tilted his head back in an effort to stop the bleeding. His expression told Michaela that he was seething but at a loss to do anything.

In an instant, Michaela knew why the Joker had done it. After Dorian was securely sitting on the floor clutching at his gushing nose, he dismissed his clowns back to their previous positions. As soon as the Joker came over and resumed his position on the desk, Michaela just froze, not daring to move or even to breathe. Since she'd run away, he probably figured she was less likely to do anything but sit still and behave if the Joker himself was going to baby-sit her.

Michaela looked at poor Dorian with his head tilted back, nursing his nose, and she would have done anything to trade places with him; she would easily have taken the pain and blood of a broken nose over the perpetual torture of sitting so close to the Joker.

What was worse was that the chair was pushed up against the wall so she couldn't even see the TV, and she was too afraid to look over her shoulder in case the Joker lashed out and punched her in the face or something to that effect. So she sat perfectly still. It had been the perfect solution.

She was closer now to the two bodies, and observed for a moment the large pool of blood beneath them that had now soaked into the carpet. Repulsed, she looked away, her attention fixing on the two uniformed men. The one continued to nurse his head wound, touching it carefully as though trying to keep it from bleeding, and the other was staring down at the carpet, visibly trembling. She didn't know how the fight was broken up, but she figured it was probably pretty harrowing.

The Joker leaned forward in his seat, pressing his palms together and rubbing them almost anxiously. Michaela looked over and realized that, if she wanted to, she could reach forward and put her hand right on his left knee; she shuddered at the thought, realizing just how close he was to her now.

His presence was menacing and hung over her like a bad thought, so she stared straight ahead, listening to Jack Ryder blaring in her ear. She fixated her gaze on a blown-up picture framed and mounted on the wall, one she hadn't noticed before. It was a Gotham Cityscape taken at night, obviously of the financial district, but she was surprised to see that the Wayne Tower was absent in the picture. It made her frown; she figured photos inside the Wayne Tower would have been of the skyscraper itself…

Next to her the Joker started humming a strange tune to himself as he watched the TV and Michaela stiffened. In her ear she heard Jack Ryder blabbing away about the charred remains of the bank, and how the police had recovered the remains of three adults and were trying to find the fourth. Michaela closed her eyes, her heart heavy for the families of the four victims who had to watch their loved ones die on television and sit by while their bodies were burnt to crisps.

The Joker smacked his lips loudly. "Where oh _where _could the Batman be?"

He said it rhetorically, of course, and when Michaela turned to look at him, she was perturbed to find him nodding his head back and forth, as though dancing to some tune. Then he turned and looked right at her, making her jump a little. He smiled, but then again she figured it could have been her imagination, what with the painted smile and all.

The Joker smacked his lips and leaned towards her just a little. "Isn't he just the _**worst**_ to keep us waiting like this?"

Michaela swallowed tightly, captured under his gaze for moments. She didn't know if he was expecting her to say something in return or if he was just saying it rhetorically. What kind of answer was she going to give him? _Yes, the Batman's a jerk for not rescuing us and letting four people die_. Yeah, she was sure that would go down _real_ well with someone whose temper flared as the drop of a hat.

Nevertheless, he was still staring at her…why? Michaela stared back at him, into his hard black eyes, and flinched when he licked his scars with his lips, the serpentine movement repelling her. She turned her eyes forcefully away, down to the floor, so she wouldn't have to look at him anymore, and therefore couldn't feel compelled to say something that was bound to get her killed.

But, as it turned out, she didn't have to say anything to invite the possibility.

"_Breaking news! Ladies and gentlemen, breaking news from the GCN news room! We have just received word that the Joker is hiding in Wayne Enterprises Tower!"_

Reeling her head back to look at the screen, Michaela was shocked when she heard the words. All she could see were the pixels of Jack Ryder's massive jaw line on the television as he practically had a conniption fit for all viewers to see.

"_Due to an anonymous tip, Gotham City Police now suspect the Joker as well as hostages are hiding in the Wayne Enterprises Tower."_

She felt them before she could even comprehend what Jack Ryder was saying: the Joker turned his eyes directly to her. She straightened and looked right at him, her mouth open, about to plea to him that it wasn't her who'd said anything although quite truthfully yes, it was her, she had told her boyfriend where they were on the phone.

It didn't seem to matter though. The Joker's lips were pulled into a tight, mean little frown; his eyes narrowed and gave her one look: truly murderous. She gripped the arm rests of the chair, dug her heels into the floor, and was more then prepared to run.

But her grip relaxed as she realized, really, for the first time that night…there was no point in trying to run.

/

**A/N: **Sorry about the wait, everyone. I had originally written this chapter to go in a direction I really didn't like, but I think I've got it figured out now. Hope you enjoyed.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Special thanks to **Hollywoodlover95, corbsxx, SatanReaper666, GorgeousGalaxy, powergirl24, HoistTheColours, wonderlandsangel, what., Bring-me-the-horizon, Serendipity's tears, **and **Devoted2You** for your reviews. Thanks so much, guys! Enjoy the chapter!

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Seven**

He was on his feet in an instant.

Before she even had a chance to catch her breath, he slid off the desk, his feet landing heavily on the carpet beneath them, and his hands were on her; one hand grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed while the other clenched around her arm in a dead iron grip, and literally forced her up from the chair, while Michaela clenched her eyes closed and winced from the pain of his grip on her. His hot, heaving breath fell over her face and he hauled her up with his brute strength so high that Michaela's eyes popped open as she realized she was scrambling to put her feet flat down on the ground.

The strength in him to hold her up off the ground at that moment scared her worse then anything she had endured in her entire life, and in the events of that night.

"Well, ah...looks like _someone_ ruined the _**surprise!**_" His voice was loud in her ear like the low snarl of a psychopath, angrier than she had heard it all night, and as he spoke his fingernails bit down into her skin to make her wince in pain.

Michaela shook her head, but the pain of his fingers clenched around the back of her neck made her stop and be motionless, before tears could well up in her eyes. She scrambled to put her hands on his arm, to make him let go. "Wait, _wait_-!"

Her pitiful cries fell on deaf ears as suddenly she felt the swivel chair kicked out from under her, rolling across the room and crashing into another piece of furniture with so much force that it toppled onto its side. Michaela saw it for only a second before the Joker's hand on the back of her neck suddenly rearranged itself to press against her throat and she was hauled over and slammed right into the wall, her head bashing back only inches away from the plasma screen TV. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her; she struggled for air against the force of his crushing hand, and once again her feet scrambled to touch the floor.

She got a really good look at his face right then, as her fingers were suddenly clawing at the hand that held itself tight against her throat, aching to relieve the pressure. His eyes were turned down on her, hard and black and murderous, and his Glasgow smile wasn't nearly as vibrant once she saw the curl in his lip with pure, unrefined hatred.

The Joker licked his lips quickly, repelling her, and he leaned close so only she could hear him. "You've really been _trying_ my patience, Mi-kay-lah."

And, releasing his death grip on her arm, he suddenly produced from his coat, and right in front of her eyes for her to behold, the silver glint of the smallest, sharpest little blade she had ever seen, and her eyes widened in horror at what he might do next.

Leaning forward, and pressing the little blade so nicely against her cheek, Michaela gasped at how cold it was, and closed her eyes because she knew it was going to hurt worse then anything she had ever imagined. She thought, for just an instant, that maybe if he pressed on her neck long enough and cut off her air supply, she'd go unconscious and would sleep through the whole thing.

Michaela could feel him leaning closer to her; she could feel his breath all over her, and felt his head block out the light. But she wouldn't open her eyes. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in her eyes right before he did whatever it was he was going to do to her.

"Why are you _so bent_ on ruining my _**fun**_?" He whispered to her, and turned the little blade oh so slowly against the flesh of her cheek. Michaela gasped aloud as she felt the sting of it slicing through her skin, like a knife through butter, and she felt what was most assuredly a drop of blood leave the cut and make its way slowly down the mound of her cheek like a lonely teardrop.

"_**WAIT!"**_

The pressure on the blade lessened, and Michaela let out a shuddery breath of horror, her eyes still clenched closed, as she felt the Joker move abruptly, turning his head to look over his shoulder. And, after a moment of silence, Michaela opened her eyes carefully to get a look at who had come to her aid.

But of course who else would it have been? Over the Joker's purple-clad shoulder she saw Dorian standing tall and defiantly, a solemn yet determined look on his handsome features, half his face strewn with dried blood. He was holding out his hand as if to physically stop the Joker's ministrations, but he didn't dare move, and Michaela didn't blame him.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but give him a truly kind and warm smile. How many times tonight had he come to her aid without any thought whatsoever for his own wellbeing? A true gentleman.

Dorian stared with a look of true determination in his big brown eyes, like a man who would never back down. Slowly he lowered his arm, puffing out his chest in defense. And with a strong yet slightly faltering breath, Dorian sold himself out. "It wasn't her. It was me."

Michaela gaped in shock at Dorian. No, no, _no_! Why was he saying that? Why would he risk lying like that?

Suddenly Michaela was released. The Joker's pressuring grip on her neck was suddenly lifted, and the blade disappeared from her skin. With nothing to support her, Michaela slid down the wall, her feet too clumsy to catch her fall, and she fell right down, colliding harshly with the carpet, and gasped loudly she started to cough against her bruised windpipe. She looked up through her forceful hacking and watched as the Joker sauntered over towards Dorian, holding the blade down at his side with his fingers clenched around the handle as if poised to strike at any moment. Breathing heavily she was faced with the dark situation she was in: Dorian had interrupted the Joker amidst a kill, and nothing good was to come of it.

But Dorian held strong, even when the Joker came right up to him and looked him square in the eye. Dorian sucked in a breath through his nostrils and let it out real slow. "I told my wife we were here. I told her to go to the police."

Michaela let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. The last thing she needed, really, was to start crying. But she couldn't help it; she couldn't believe how Dorian was completely sacrificing himself so that she might survive a little more time.

But after a moment, the Joker made a strange little noise in his throat. He was dancing back and forth on his feet again, like he did whenever he couldn't make up his mind about something. Leaning in really close to Dorian, so much that the other man leaned back with a hint of disgust on his face, the Joker smacked his lips. "Are you _sure?_"

He said it in that strange, high-pitched nasal voice of his, the voice that was almost scarier than the harshness of his angry growls, and Michaela watched in desperation to see what was going to happen next.

Affirming her fears, the Joker lifted the little blade up towards Dorian's face, showing him how it glinted so prettily in the light. "You wouldn't just be saying that, _**wouldja**_?"

Dorian stood like a giant who would not tremble. "She was awake, and I told her where we were."

That was it. That was all that had to be said, and then everything happened so, so quickly.

The Joker seemed to take only a minute to process this information, and then he looked over his shoulder at one of his clowns. With the gesture made with his head, Michaela watched in horror as the clown stepped forward and, raising his gun, fired twice in Dorian's direction, and even as Michaela opened her mouth to let out a scream, no sound escaped her throat.

Dorian was hit once, and thankfully the shot narrowly missed his chest and instead caught in his arm. Dorian let out a strangled cry of pain and collapsed back down onto the nearest leather chair, his hand suddenly clenched at his arm that was beginning to squirt blood.

Michaela stared at him as his face twisted in pain, and as the Joker slowly made his way back towards the desk, Michaela knew she couldn't sit idly by and watch this man begin to bleed to death. Risking the safety that Dorian had nearly died to give her, she forced herself forward, on hands and knees, until she reached Dorian.

"Oh my god, Dorian." She gasped as she saw the amount of blood pouring from the bullet wound, despite the fact he was keeping it covered. Dorian wouldn't look at her, he kept his attention on his arm, clenching so hard that his knuckles were white. It was obvious he was trying to stop the bleeding but it didn't seem to be working.

But just as she had reached him, she was hauled up and onto her feet by the Joker, who took hold of her upper arm and forced her up. She turned to plead with him and came face to face with his black eyes.

"Now, now Mi-kay-lah, let's let him think about what he's done." The Joker said in a mocking tone, pulling her back towards the desk and away from Dorian, perhaps to show that he most certainly wasn't done with her. But as she stretched her neck and looked at the bleeding man behind her, she began to struggle against the Joker's grip.

The Joker whipped his head to give her a blood curdling look, a look that said _don't test me any further_, but Michaela refused to acknowledge it, shaking her head anxiously and gesturing towards Dorian with her arm. "No, you don't understand, we have to mend that bullet wound or he'll bleed to death-"

Michaela only saw the look in his black eyes for a split second before he released his hold on her arm. She looked at him, shocked that he would consider letting her go, before -

_CRACK!_

Pain erupted along the right side of her face and she literally thrown right to the ground with the force of the blow. Catching her breath and reeling from the shock of the pain, and just trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, her cheek started to burn with the pain of a backhanded slap.

Michaela let out a shaky gasp, both terrified and furious. He had hit her. The goddamn bastard _hit her_!

Tears escaped her eyes as she pressed her forehead down into the carpet, letting herself go for just a moment, not just because she had been so close to death just a few moments ago, and not because Dorian was possibly going to die of blood loss right there behind her. No, she cried because someone, somewhere in the world, had let this man, this _creature _live long enough to make them all endure what they were now enduring. And what was worse? Where was the _Batman_ as this was going on? Where the hell was the Batman while they were suffering this torture?

Michaela let out low sobs, curling herself up into a tight little ball and letting it all out. Her cheek stung as the salt from her tears grazed the cut, and her face burned with the force of the slap as well as the sting of the tears.

_You goddamn bastard,_ Michaela thought to herself, angrily. _You goddamn __**coward.**_

She cradled her face against her arms, sniffing loudly. _If Roger knew you'd hit me, you'd be a dead man. If Roger knew you'd put so much as a finger on me, he'd kill you. He wouldn't think twice, you goddamn bastard. He'd kill you!_

Michaela wanted to explode. She wanted to get to her feet, stand up in front of the Joker, and literally explode in a rage of fury. She wanted to yell and scream at him until her throat was scorched and her lungs ached from lack of air. But it would all be worth it. She'd tell him everything that was on her mind, everything she thought about him. Absolutely everything.

But obviously, lying on the floor in a ball, crying uncontrollably...it wasn't the right time.

/

"What do we do, boss?"

Michaela wasn't sure how it had happened, but things in the room seemed to have calmed down if even a little. She had pressed herself up against the leather chair that Dorian was sitting in, and somehow he had been able to wrap what looked like the torn sleeve from his jacket around his arm, tight enough to try and stop the bleeding. Nevertheless, the man was ashen as ever and his whole body now seemed to be covered in blood. Michaela knew, that if he survived this, he would need both serious medical and psychological help.

The Joker and the clowns were having a little pow-wow in front of the plasma screen, where the news showed Jack Ryder's face anxiously going on about the Joker's whereabouts in Wayne Tower. One of the clowns was talking on a cell phone, and although Michaela couldn't hear the hushed conversation, she was almost positive she knew who he was talking to.

A moment later, the clown covered the speaker of the phone and looked up at the Joker. "Boss, Len's on the phone, he's wondering what to do?"

Michaela couldn't help but smile. Her dangerous little escapade in telling Roger where they were almost got Dorian killed and wounded her, but she was delighting in watching the Joker squirm. And oh was he squirming; he seemed completely out of his head, turning towards the news reports and back to his clowns, an unreadable expression on his painted face.

"Boss?"

Growling in frustration, the Joker waved his arm at the clown. "Just tell him to stay put. We're all gonna stay put. We're all gonna sit right _tight_."

Michaela watched the clowns look at each other, completely at a loss, while the Joker turned back towards the TV and watched for a few moments. Then, after only a moment, he swiveled around on the desk and turned to the one clown. "Tell me something good, Johnny."

The clown donned Johnny paused for a moment and then shrugged somewhat helplessly. "All entrances are barricaded and rigged, as per your orders. No way in or out...unless you're a flying rodent."

The Joker made a contemplative sound in his throat. "And he'll be on his way soon e-nuff."

At this, Michaela scoffed a little in her throat. Four people had already been killed, and a bank in downtown Gotham had been blown up, causing panic to arise all over the city. If the Batman hadn't bothered to show up for those tragedies, why on earth would be show up now?

She looked back up at Dorian, who was gently holding his arm and wincing with his eyes closed. Her heart ached for him. She desperately wanted to struggle up onto her feet, collapse into his lap and hug him, just to warm him, just to calm him, just to say _thank you_. He had saved her life that night, and she was beginning to see it was impossible for Dorian _not_ to bleed to death...if only the Joker was forced to give up a hostage, just one hostage, she'd make Dorian go. She'd tell him to go to the hospital, reunite with his wife that was probably worried sick about him. He deserved it more at that point then any of them.

Michaela reached up and touched her cheek, wincing as she brushed her fingertip against the cut and scraped away dry blood. She sighed heavily, wondering what other manner of cuts and bruises she would be forced to bear by the end of the night.

She hadn't been paying attention when, quite suddenly, all clowns were on high alert, holding their guns in both hands, and the Joker turned off the plasma screen and hopped off the desk. Michaela was immediately apprehensive, looking to see what was going on. One clown wandered over to the two uniformed men and motioned for them to stand up by tilting the barrel of his gun. She watched as they diligently stood and then were ushered out of the room.

Michaela felt her breath hitch in her chest. Were they being separated?

The clown called Vance towered over her, his crudely painted clown mask staring down at her, and she looked up at him and gave him the fiercest look she could muster. No way, _no way in Hell_ was she going anywhere with him.

"Come on, get up." Vance growled with an exasperated tone, as though he knew she was going to give him a hard time, and he gripped his gun in warning. "Don't make me get you up."

Biting her tongue to keep from spewing something ugly at him that would probably have resulted in getting hit with the butt of his gun, Michaela struggled to her feet, watching the uniformed men disappear behind the door with the other clown, the door where she and Dorian had escaped. It occurred to her instantly that perhaps they were just moving to a different room.

Giving Vance a sour look, Michaela turned around to help Dorian out of the chair, and, to her surprise, no one stopped her. Had Vance even tried to keep her from helping him she would have thrown a fit right in his face, who cared what he or the Joker would do? But she was relieved no one had made a sound of protest; there was no way she was going to leave Dorian there in that room.

Dorian's handsome face was now so pale he looked almost ghostly, and when she took his good arm to help him to his feet, his hand was cold and clammy. Michaela felt her stomach churn and knot as she saw the blood from his arm had spilled all along his side, staining his jacket. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, feeling so terrible for him.

"Come on," Vance said impatiently, nodding towards the door, and Michaela swallowed nervously, stepping forward to lead the way, and then suddenly taken aback to find Vance move ahead of her and charge through the door, motioning her to follow.

Michaela held Dorian's good arm for support; although he was able to walk, the loss of blood had obviously taken its toll and they were moving slowly. His breathing was hard in her ear and she just tried to be patient and help him along, moving him towards the door.

Vance disappeared behind the door and she wondered why he had gone ahead of her...until she heard the too familiar chuckle behind her.

Her face contorting in anger, Michaela carefully looked over her shoulder to see the Joker trailing a few feet behind her, slowly, moving one foot in front of the other step by step, exaggerating, like a little kid mocking his mother. He stared at her with his dark eyes full of cruel laughter, and he was grinning that same big stupid grin that she just wanted to _smack_ off his face.

She looked away, pulling her attention to the door as she held it open for her and Dorian to go through. The same giggling ensued behind her. She simply didn't understand it; one moment he was ready to cut her face in half, the next he was giggling like a naughty little boy.

Vance was waiting at the elevator, the face on his mask startling her for a moment. As soon as she stepped out into the brightly lit hallway she was amazed how clean the air smelled. She breathed it in fully, letting her lungs fill with it; she hadn't realized how the scent of blood contaminated the air of that room until they'd stepped out of it. It was a relief, and she heard just the slightest sigh from Dorian. He was probably relieved too.

As soon as they came to the elevator doors, Vance hit the button and they waited patiently for the elevator to rise up and the doors to open. Once it did, a few minutes later, Vance ushered her and Dorian in, and then Vance and the Joker soon followed. Vance hit a button that Michaela didn't see, and the doors closed. The elevator began to ascend.

Michaela bowed her head so she wouldn't have to look at either the back of Vance's head or the Joker's head of greasy, faded green hair. She felt so cramped and claustrophobic, despite the fact it was a roomy elevator and they weren't necessarily squished together. The Joker was mumbling a tune to himself and nodding his head back and forth in a manner that annoyed Michaela deeply, but she bit her bottom lip and resolved not to say a word.

After a few minutes, the elevator doors opened and they filed out into another brightly lit hallway. They were faced with a pair of big double oak doors, and Vance pushed them open and led them inside. Michaela looked around at her surroundings. They were in a big conference room.

There were no windows, probably what the Joker was aiming for. The wall was covered in very expensive and beautiful wood paneling, and lights from the ceiling gave the entire room a very warm look. A long beautiful table sat directly in the middle of the room, lined on both sides by swiveling leather chairs, with bottles of water gathered in little groups along the middle. At the far end of the table, planted against the wall, was another large plasma screen TV. The walls were covered with fancy artwork, but there was not a window in sight.

Like the previous room, there were black lounge leather chairs pressed up against the walls, and that was where the clown had ushered the two uniformed men, who were sitting quietly and patiently while the clown watched them file in. Michaela carefully led Dorian towards one of the chairs, holding his arm steadily as she could feel his legs would soon give out.

She eased him down into the nearest lounge chair, all eyes on her as Dorian slowly sat down and then struggled to breathe, as though he had to catch his breath. He looked so sickly, and his lips looked so parched. She turned towards the table wondering if the Joker would let her give Dorian one of the bottles of water.

But then she noticed something strange. Both Vance and the other clown were watching her intently, holding their guns against their bodies, waiting for orders. She stared at them, wondering what they were staring at exactly. Were they looking at her...or were they looking past her? That was when she suddenly remembered that the Joker had come in behind her.

She reacted too late. Gloved fingers ensnarled themselves into her hair and tugged, making her cry out in surprise and pain, and the Joker's other hand curled around her upper arm, rendering her to be completely still. She could feel his hot, snarling breath at her neck and her ear and she struggled not to scream, but she desperately _desperately _wanted to scream.

"Not _you, Mi-kay-lah."_ The Joker growled in her ear, and she whimpered at the roughness in his voice, and his fingers tightened around her arm and was beginning to really hurt. His fingers perfectly wound in her hair, he began to lead her back towards the door, and she was far too frightened to react.

"You and I are gonna have a _little __**chat**_." He literally spat the last syllable in her ear, sounding more angry than she had heard him all that night, and before she knew it she was basically being dragged out of the room.

Her eyes connected with Dorian's worried expression when it dawned on her, and she began to struggle, but the more she struggled the more his fingers pulled on the roots of her hair, and the more his fingertips bit into the flesh of her arm. The clowns were watching, the uniformed men were watching, and Dorian was watching too, all with the same expressions on their faces: they knew she wasn't coming back.

"_No_..." Michaela gasped, her voice throaty and dry, and she could feel the tears well up in her eyes as the terror slowly crept up on her and engulfed her, and she tried to plant her feet into the carpet to make it harder for him to pull her. But the Joker was so strong, he simply carried her along like a child carrying a lifeless doll.

"_**NOOO!"**_ Her voice exploded from her throat, and from the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and all around her, as the double doors swung closed and she was forsaken, left at the mercy of the Joker, gone through the gates into Hell.

/

A/N: OH MY GOD the semester is nearly done! Soon there will be nothing to do but work part-time hours, make Christmas crafts, go shopping, and UPDATE EVERYTHING much more REGULARLY! I'm looking forward to it, can you tell? :P

Next chapter: She's kinda in for it. ...It's gonna be interesting, that's all I can say.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I have to start this chapter with an author's note, first just to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed, and added "Kaleidoscope" either to their Story Alerts list and/or their Favourite Stories list. I wrote this chapter in one sitting, mostly because of all the wonderful words I received for chapter seven, but also because things are starting to move along in his story and it's freaking me out a little bit. Speaking of "freaking me out", this chapter is uh, pretty intense, if I do say so myself. By the time I finished writing this chapter, I had goosebumps.

On that note, this is one LONG chapter. You may want to go make a cup of tea or grab some Christmas cookies or something before you tuck into it. Y'know those chapters where you write and write and you just can't find the right place to break it off and start another chapter? This is one of those chapters, a whopping 20 pages. I certainly hope it doesn't disappoint. A Christmas gift from me to you. :D

A very, very big thank you to **Kyrie Twilight, Serendipity's tears, Weird-To-Strange, corbsxx, , GorgeousGalaxy, Kakashi-luver HeldAtRansom, HoistTheColours, Bad Luck, Leila, **and **Lorien Urbani** for your stunning reviews! To the reviewers **Kakashi-luver,** **Bad Luck**, and **Leila** I would like to politely encourage you guys to set up accounts because I would like to write you personal messages to thank you properly for the kind reviews you've left! Either way, it was splendid to hear from you guys. Enjoy the chapter!

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Eight**

**/**

The man sitting across from her, Mr. James Retherbok, a potential future employer, looked like Clark Kent. Black hair like ebony, styled nicely, and thick black-framed glasses. He was handsome, in a conventional sort of way, but far too old for Michaela (not that she was thinking of getting mixed up with a potential employer, really). From the moment she shook his hand, and he invited her to come into his fabulously furnished office and have a seat in the most comfortable leather chair she'd ever sat down in, it popped into her head. Clark Kent.

Michaela would have made mention of it, if only to break the ice, but at that point she would have said anything to break the ice.

He was going through her resume, quite slowly, as through scrutinizing all the details and taking everything in. He pursed his lips while he read, she noticed, and every now and then he made a noise in his throat, either of interest or of uncertainty. Michaela knew not to speak until she was spoken to; this was a very prestigious company, after all, and she'd risked her job to come in for an interview. So she sat rigidly, nervously twiddling her thumbs, and resisting the urge to cross her legs and calm herself down a little.

At one point Mr. Retherbok tapped his pen against his pursed lips without raising his eyes to her. "Bachelor of Commerce from the University of Gotham, very good, very good...and an honours degree specializing in economics and human resources, no less..."

Michaela shook so badly; she couldn't remember the last time she'd applied for a job and been so nervous...although, this was one of the most distinguished companies in downtown Gotham, there was plenty for her to be nervous about.

Mr. Retherbok's big black eyebrows rose in immediate interest. "Huh," and he looked at her over the rims of his thick glasses. "And fifteen years as a ballerina for the Gotham players."

Michaela swallowed tightly and smiled casually. She didn't like bringing up the ballerina fact. "That's right."

"Hmm," his interest sounded piqued, and there was a pleasant look on his face before he turned back to her resume. "So how long have you been over at Derry and Williams?"

She leaned forward, as though afraid he wouldn't hear her. "Almost two years."

"Mmmhmm, and why do you want to leave?" He asked in a no-nonsense voice, flipping over a page and looking through the rest of her resume.

Michaela straightened up and tried to focus. She tried to tell herself to be calm. She knew she could never reveal to Mr. Retherbok the fact that her boss at Derry and Williams, Mr. Robertson, had given one of her coworkers a promotion that she, Michaela, was so perfectly suited for. It meant bigger opportunities, an office, more responsibility, a bigger salary, getting up high with the bigwigs and rubbing elbows with all the right people and meeting all sorts of great contacts through Gotham and the rest of the country. Michaela was more than qualified for the job, and yet he had given the position to Pamela, another junior analyst who sat in the same office with Michaela and spent half her time cutting off her split ends and the other half going around and asking what words like "merger" and "acquisition" meant. When Michaela had approached Mr. Robertson, all he was willing to do was shrug and say, "Sorry, position's been filled".

Michaela figured it was time to move on to bigger, better things. But she would never reveal that to Mr. Retherbok. Instead she cleared her throat and sat up sharply. "Between you and me, sir, there are some business practices going on in that office that I believe to be..."

She paused, thinking to herself. Did she really want to play this game? But Mr. Retherbok look up at her, expecting her answer, and she took the plunge.

"Impractical." Michaela said in half a whisper, and straightened back in her chair. "And personally, I feel it's better for me to move on and expand my horizons. I'm just a junior analyst over there, and I think I'd like to be somewhere where I have a chance to move up in the near future."

"Hmm," Mr. Retherbok made that noise again, and set down her resume on the desk. "And why did you consider us here at Perry & Alberti?

It was the closest commute to home, in a beautiful building, with a lot of money and a lot of responsibility to offer. But for some reason, Michaela felt that wouldn't sit so well with him. Instead, she gave him her most flattering smile and leaned forward just a bit. "I've always admired the company, and I've heard such excellent things about the people and the work. I've just...always admired the work your company does and has always wanted to be a part of it."

Michaela figured she was being smooth as silk, but the look on Mr. Retherbok's face was slowly beginning to sour. "I see...and that name tag you've got on there, that's from Derry & Williams?"

She froze, and looking down she gaped as she realized she hadn't taken off her name tag from work. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ She swallowed tightly, hoping it wouldn't be such a big deal, but she knew it would be, there was no denying it. Slowly she looked up at Mr. Retherbok and shrugged just a little bit as if to say _Can ya blame me?_

Apparently he could. He began to twirl the pen between his fingers and looked at her with a scrutinizing eye. "So at what point between accusing your current employer of bad business choices, whining about being a junior analyst, and skipping out on your lunch break to go behind your employer's back to come to this interview did you resolve to kiss my ass for this position?"

That was pretty much the end of the interview as she knew it.

/

She remembered what an especially _bad_ day it had been.

Sitting in the cab, having left that disaster of an interview Perry & Alberti, where James Retherbok had all but thrown her out of the office, Michaela started to worry. The interview had been _bad_, actually she was positive it was going to go down as one of the worst job interviews in the history of man. It would probably have gone in the Guinness Book of World Records as Worst Job Interview if she ever gathered the gall to mention it to anyone, which she didn't have any intention of doing anytime soon.

Despite the fact that the interview was over, and she was out of the building and safe as she could be in a taxi cab, Michaela was scared shitless. What if James Retherbok called Mr. Robertson and callously told him about the failed interview? Mr. Robertson was overall a nice guy and a fairly reasonable boss, but there was no way he would let something like that slide. Really, what would keep him from making a quick phone call to tattle on her? He had made his dislike of her abundantly clear.

She groaned inwardly. The entire day had just been _bad_. The alarm clock hadn't gone off so she woke up nearly half an hour past her usual wake-up time, so she stole out of her apartment with damp hair and no deodorant. She had sat at work, taking in cup after cup of coffee, putting on her makeup secretly while Mr. Robertson had his back turned, and was so nervous for the interview at Verne Kamuf that she'd hardly gotten any work done.

She'd gotten away late from her office and showed up at the Perry & Alberti nearly ten minutes late, got the stink eye from the receptionist who looked her up and down like she was a common hooker come waltzing in from off the corner, and the rest of the interview had been a complete disaster. She walked out just as soon as James Retherbok intimated that he finished with her and with newfound vigor she decided she'd never go near the building ever again.

Michaela stopped fretting and worrying long enough to check her watch and realized she was in good time to get to her next interview. At least something had gone right; she was worried that if she got to this second interview late and then got to work late, Mr. Robertson would be worried that she was up to something. But it seemed as though she was in good time. Perhaps, _perhaps_, if she just happened to be the luckiest woman in the world (which seemed unlikely, due to the events of the entire day), this second interview would go really well and she'd be hired on the spot so even if she did show up late after her break, it wouldn't matter either way. It was ridiculous enough to work, she just had to keep in focus and not say any bonehead things.

The cab pulled up to the plaza and Michaela paid the cabdriver. Getting out of the cab and starting to cross the wide plaza of fine marble, she looked up at the great skyscraper and smiled just slightly. The last interview had been absolute crap, but maybe she'd be able to pull this one off. It was a very wealthy organization, and liked to show it by putting all sorts of statues and fountains in the plaza as you walked towards the base of the tower and entered its brilliance.

Never slowing her stride, she bent over to straighten out her pencil skirt and adjusted her purse over her shoulder. She stopped for a split second to tighten the clasp on her shoe...when a great force tumbled right into her, knocking her right off balance, and gasping in surprise she began to fall right back...and that was when she noticed the great splash of ice and a cold, sugary-smelling, purple liquid that exploded all over her front.

All she remembered was the pain of her ass hitting the cement underneath her, the silence of everything at that very moment, save for the sound of the Big Gulp cup as it clattered to the ground at her side. It was _everywhere_, whatever it was. All over her crisp white blouse, running over her shoulders and falling down her back. It was everywhere, cold like ice, pooling in the lap of her skirt and sinking through to run along her thighs. A good chunk of her hair had been hit, the same with her face; her mascara was probably running.

She was too shocked to say anything. But truthfully, she was too shocked because in front of her there erupted a laughter like she had never heard.

Raising her eyes she was met with the figure of a young man wearing the most _hideous_ canary-yellow sweater she had ever seen; it was blinding. He was literally bent over at the knees, gasping for air as he laughed his ass off, presumably at her. Behind him there was a bunch of them, other young men hanging around and looking at her like it was the most terrible thing that had ever happened. Nobody was laughing, nobody but _him._

Michaela held out her hands as though afraid if she moved, more of the disgusting stuff would drench her, but it was pretty much too late. It was already on her hands, all over her chest and stomach, creeping down her hips and running down the back of her neck, too. She was so soaked in grape pop that she looked and smelled like a a big purple popsicle. It wasn't so much the colour that bothered her, more it was how _sticky_ she knew _everything_ was going to be and she hated it!

And what was worse...the _asshole _wouldn't stop laughing.

She glared up at him with the fiercest, meanest look she could fathom, the blood rushing to her face both in embarrassment, because people had gathered around to see the commotion, and in anger, because the schmuck was still laughing his fool head off. Michaela remembered just how she was glowering at him, wanting to combust into flames, when, finally able to control his laughter but unable to keep the tears at bay, he pulled himself together and came walking towards her. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I really am. It's just...the expression on your face was just...just priceless!"

He bent over, having to support himself by pressing a hand into his knee, like his gut ached from laughing, but extended his free hand to help her up off the ground. She was so blinded in fury that she was hardly conscious of putting her hand in his and being tugged up and off the concrete, coming face to face with the asshole's crystal blue eyes, puffy red from tears of laughter.

"You all right?" He asked, unable to help the chuckles that escaped his lips, putting a hand out to touch her shoulder, and that was when she lost it.

Michaela slapped his hand away like it was a venomous thing and she took one step towards him and let it rip. "You _asshole! Why don't you look where you're going?_"

He put his hands up, like she was holding a gun to him, and had this moronic expression on his face that made her even angrier, because she could see he was suppressing a smile. "Whoa, look, just calm down-"

"I mean, _what the hell_, don't people _watch_ where they're _walking these days_!" She was hardly aware what a fool she was making of herself; there were people gathered all around watching the onslaught, and the schmuck's friends were standing back with horrified looks on their faces as though she were a ticking time bomb and they had just so happened to catch the end of it. "You could have walked into oncoming traffic, but instead you just _had _to run _right smack into me_ and spill your _mother-fucking pop all over my brand new shirt!_"

Michaela was so upset that she hadn't realized how his expression was changing ever so slightly; his somewhat amused look had changed into a perfectly terrified expression, his lips open just a little and his eyes so wide they looked like they would swallow his forehead.

But she wasn't done. "And who the hell drinks _grape pop _anymore? What are you, _six-years-old_? Do you have _any idea_ how much this is going to cost to have dry-cleaned? That's why mothers never kept grape pop in the house, because it _fucking stains __**everything**__!_"

All of a sudden, as she vented verbally and at a most inappropriate volume, she realized what a spectacle she was making of herself. Heaving with fury and trying to catch her breath, she noticed that they were seeming surrounded by people. Turning this way and that she could see pedestrians looking at her; the schmuck's friends were frozen in their spots with frightened looks, and the poor schmuck himself looked like he was going to crap his pants.

Humiliation rushed into each fibre of her being; redness flushed up her neck and into her face, and completely disgraced she turned on her heel to take off fleeing from the scene, covering her face so no one would see the tears that were bound to start pouring...when the heel of her shoe caught on the Big Gulp cup, which skid against the cement, and down she went a second time.

The pain was worse that time, but it didn't compare to the burning pain of humiliation she felt; once she had registered that she had fallen flat on her ass for the second time in front of a bunch of people, she simply couldn't help herself. Her lip started quivering and her eyes began to sting, and bowing her head she let loose and started to cry harder than she had ever cried before.

Through her tears she couldn't hear the tut-tutting of the pedestrians who had stopped to watch her onslaught and were now passing by to continue on with their day. All around her the sounds of the city occurred as though nothing had ever happened; buses roared by, businessmen were arguing on their cellphones, smokers were chattering outside the doors...and there was Michaela, poor little Michaela, right down on her ass in the middle of the business sector surrounded by professionals with a massive purple stain on her shirt, a broken high heel shoe, a face red like a tomato, and a badly bruised ego.

What was worse, ultimately worse, was that the bastard wouldn't leave her alone.

She could sense him walking up behind her, and when her crying had subsided a little, she could sense him just over and above her, like he was trying to survey the damage, but from an appropriate height and distance.

"Jesus..." he muttered in a stunned tone of voice, and he bent down next to her and she fought the urge to hiss something vulgar at him. "Look...I-I'm sorry about the shirt. Here, take my sweater."

She damn near scoffed when he unzipped and took off the canary yellow sweater and held it out for her; she wouldn't be caught _dead_ wearing such an ugly thing.

"No thank you." She snarled under her breath, a little more harshly then she meant, but she couldn't help it, she was so upset.

"Aw come on, it's the least I can do." He urged gently, shifting on his knees but still holding it out for her. "I mean, your shirt's probably all sticky, it can't be that comfortable."

How she longed to spit _no shit Sherlock_ at him over her shoulder, but she refrained, figuring she'd been a bitch enough for one day. She bowed her head, sighed heavily, and sniffed miserably. She looked up at him over her shoulder, her face probably swollen up and red, like a punching bag, and was very surprised to see him smile just ever so slightly when they made eye contact.

He was _achingly_ cute, there was no denying. He had perfectly proportioned features, which were almost childlike but undoubtably masculine. He was strong-chinned but had a sharp, thin nose and a nicely shaped mouth that created sweet little smiles, and big, _big _blue eyes, the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a man. If she hadn't been sitting on the ground with his grape pop all over her shirt _and _bawling her eyes out _and_ if she hadn't screamed at him so mercilessly in public, she would have made every intention to be a lady who knew a good-looking man when she saw one.

He seemed to take the eye contact and her silence as a positive, because he unfolded the sweater and draped it effortlessly over her shoulders so that she could pull it together. She was taken aback, both by the forwardness yet sincerity of the gesture, but also by how it smelled; when she first saw him wearing the stupid thing she figured he was just some skater boy who smoked a lot of marijuana and never wore deodorant. But the smell of the sweater was just a light husk of good cologne and a scent that was genuinely male, overpowering the sticky sweet smell of the grape pop that had been clogging her nostrils.

Michaela was hardly aware that one, she was wearing his sweater, and two that she was suddenly on her feet with her hand clenched in his once again. Silently, and more ashamed than embarrassed at that point, she turned towards him and blinked at him through her swollen eyes.

Flashing her a white-toothed smile that weakened her in the knees a little, he shrugged his shoulders. "See, it's all good."

Looking around she noticed the only ones still around to see her spectacle were the guy's friends, but even they had been polite enough to turn away and were talking amongst themselves as though nothing happened; they were just ignoring the crazy lady's rants and minding their own business. Michaela frowned, ready to burst into tears again, but instead of crying she just felt wretched, from embarrassment and from shame. She had never behaved so badly in her life.

She turned to look him straight in the eye, and his smile faltered just slightly. "I'm...I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have screamed at you like that."

He took in her apology, his eyes wide with understanding, and just shrugged his shoulders again. "Oh, don't even worry about it, you're right, I wasn't looking where I was going, I deserved that bitch-out."

He said it so callously that she actually laughed a little, but it only made her feel worse afterwards. She sniffed, struggling to keep from crying, and sucked in a deep, tired breath. The entire day had just been _exhausting_.

"I, uh..." She didn't know what more to say; he was standing there like he was expecting a conversation, or maybe he was just waiting until she was done with his sweater. Either way, his big blue eyes were on her and he was still smiling that cheeky little smile that she was steadily starting to like. She considered apologizing once more, but figured the last thing she had done was offended him, as far as she could see. All she wanted was to get out of there, get away from him, and pretend like the whole thing had never happened. "I guess I should...get going."

His face lit up in realization, like he was not really expecting that their strange encounter was coming to a close. "Oh yeah, I mean, for sure. Hell, you looked like you were on a mission from God or something. You uh, got a meeting or something to go to?"

Michaela thought miserably about her interview, and bowing her head she just shook her head dismally. The day was obviously _flawed_ so there was no use going to the interview and fucking that up, too. She'd call and find out if she could reschedule. And there was no way she was going back to work, not until she'd at least had a chance to go home and change. She sighed heavily, closing her eyes for just a moment, and shook her head miserably. She could see the tips of her hair were almost going hard with grape pop. "No, I'm gonna go home."

"Oh," he said, sounding somewhat surprised, and then quickly comprised himself again. "You uh, where do you live? Do you want me to hail you a cab?"

Swallowing, she looked towards the busy streets of downtown Gotham, not in the mood whatsoever to go back to the subway and make her long way back home. Getting a taxi home sounded too good to be true at that point. Turning back to him she nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Without even looking towards the group of friends he had been promptly ignoring, he grinned and held out his arm as if to show her the way. "Watch this, I'm the best at getting taxis, y'know how these taxi drivers are pricks most of the time? Just watch."

Not able to comprehend how sweet he was being after the tongue-lashing she had given him, she followed along beside him towards the sidewalk, where a hot dog vendor was staring at her purple-stained shirt with his cigar about to fall out of the corner of his mouth. Self-consciously, she pulled together the folds of the yellow sweater, secretly longing to hide inside it until all people could see was an enormous canary yellow figure walking around downtown Gotham.

Having reached the sidewalk, she stood, waited, and watched while this guy damn near stepped right off the curb, rose his arm, and screamed. "YO TAXI!"

Michaela nearly burst out laughing when a taxi cab screeched right up almost as soon as he had screamed out for one. She shook her head in amazement, and when he came back towards her he was smiling too.

"See, what'd I tell ya? It's a gift, I _must_ be _gifted_ at hailing taxis in Gotham City, you don't see that too often!" He said, grinning like an idiot and chattering like a little boy, and then he pointed to her face. "See, there's a smile. It's not such a bad day after all."

Smiling somewhat miserably, because she simply wasn't able to help it, she walked towards the taxi, where the cab driver was expressing his anxiety to get a move on. Waiting as her knight in canary-yellow polyester armour held the door open for her, she motioned to take off the sweater. "Here, here's your sweater."

"Nah," he put out his hand before she had a chance to take it off her shoulders. When she looked at him questionably, he was just grinning like a fool. "You hang on to it. I know it's not the most flattering colour, but it's better than that purple."

Again she couldn't help but laugh a little. "But...how will I get it back to you?"

He paused as though he were thinking for a moment, and ignoring the hassling of the cab driver who was shouting that idling was against the law, he pointed to the brochure she was holding. "You got a piece of paper or something on you?"

Blinking at him, she looked into her purse and pulled out a take-out menu for a Thai restaurant she'd eaten at a week before. Looking at it, and figuring she was going to throw it away anyway, she passed it to him and he took a small green highlighter out of his pocket and started to scribble something down. She remembered watching him and wondering why on earth he had a small green highlighter on his person like that. After a moment, he capped the highlighter and gave her back the menu.

"Here, that's my cell number. Call me when you get sick of looking at this god-awful thing and I'll uh, I'll come get it." He was grinning like a cheeky bastard, stuffing his hands in his pockets, standing there and just smiling at her.

Michaela took the menu and beheld his scribbly writing. ROGER, it read, in electric green highlighter writing, and below was his number.

Blinking sadly, and still feeling so ashamed for her behavior, and even more so because he was being such a gentleman, she looked up at him and gave him a sad look. "I-I'm really sorry for screaming at you. It's just been...a really bad day."

The guy, Roger, shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. "Like I said, I get screamed at all the time, it's no biggie. So uh, guess I'll be hearing from ya...Michael?"

He was so obviously squinting at her name-tag that had somehow made itself visible behind the canary-yellow sweater; she looked down at it, seeing it was only half-visible, and then back up at him, smiling half-heartedly. "Michaela."

Roger nodded his head. "Cool."

As if that was the end of it, still grinning that massive grin, his hands still stuffed in his pockets, he turned away and started back towards where he had abandoned his friends, and Michaela couldn't help but turn and watch him go. He stalked away like a gangly teenager, dressed now only in what could only be designer jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. Even like that, walking away from her, he ebbed a strange, juvenile charm, something she was ultimately drawn to. She didn't know whether it was his seemingly perfect handsomeness, or his goofy demeanor, or the fact that he had just been such an incredible guy when she had so blatantly verbally abused him, but she was drawn to him, sad to see him go. Michaela continued to watch him, and felt the blood rush to her face when he turned and looked at her once more over his shoulder, still grinning like an idiot, before turning back to his friends who were watching and waiting and calling to him like he was late for a very important date.

With that, she climbed into the back of the cab, ignoring the grumbling of the cab driver who swerved to join the bustling commute that commenced in downtown Gotham City streets, and started to swear like a sailor due to the traffic, but Michaela was barely aware of it at all. She nestled back into the seat, curling Roger's sweater around her, inhaling the smell of it, the smell of _him_, and couldn't stop smiling.

Not such a bad day after all.

/

Michaela woke abruptly, gasped, and her vision was speckled with stars. A dull, throbbing pain engulfed her head and she closed her eyes; she was sitting down against a wall, her legs bent uncomfortably, while the sound of the door slamming shut was thunderous in her ears and inside her head.

There was silence in the darkness, save for the heavy, laboured, angry breathing that materialized from all around her. Opening her eyes she was met with only darkness, and she welcomed it, like slipping into heavy sleep and blissful unconsciousness. But then came the garish spill of bright light, blinding her, further inducing her headache, bringing her attention to the fancy decor of the office she was in and the brutal burn of purple in her vision that ruined it. His presence was heavy in the air of the small office; despite her bleary consciousness and the pain throbbing in her temples, she was all too aware that she was all alone, disposed, trapped in a little space with the Joker, and with no real escape in sight.

The purple was a blur in her eyes as he stomped towards her and bent down in front of her, his gangly arms dangling over his kneecaps, and he cuffed her roughly on her cheek, shocking her out of her daze.

"You still with me, Mi-kay-lah?" he asked in his high, nasal voice. "Hmm? Don't want-cha fainting on me now."

The clown makeup was the worst sight of all; that Glasgow smile infuriated her and she tried with all her might to scowl hard. She wanted to spit right in his face, she didn't care if he killed her, she wanted to express exactly what she thought of him right then at that moment.

The Joker stood and pulled away, shuffling around the office, looking at the various objects sitting on the surrounding bookshelves. "What are we gonna do, hmm? What are we gonna do?"

Michaela, now intensely uncomfortable, struggled to stretch out her legs in front of her. She sucked in a breath and blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting to her surroundings. What had happened? She remembered going into the conference room, and helping Dorian into a chair...she remembered being dragged out of the conference room, kicking and screaming. But after that...nothing. It was a blur. How she got into this office was a complete blur to her.

Figuring she must have passed out, either from fear or from pain, she decided it wasn't important and instead focused on the matter at hand. Taking a moment to look around the office she was now in, Michaela was immediately disheartened by what she saw. The office was small but it was beautifully furnished; there was glass everywhere, glass bookshelves and vases and display cases in the corners. She was worried that if he got throwing her around, she'd get more than a few nasty cuts.

The Joker went over to the desk, and with one swipe with his arm he sent a few objects falling to the floor, the crashing sounds of the objects hitting the floor making her jump. He then hopped up on the desk, sitting with his feet dangling over the edge. He removed a knife from his pocket and started to run his gloved fingertip down the length of the blade.

"What are we gonna do, Mi-kay-lah? I have a hostage who just won't, ah..._behave_. So what are we gonna do?"

She stared ahead of her, not even thinking of looking at him, let alone giving him an answer. Let him vent, let him talk away, she was resolved to sit there and wait, wait for whatever it was he would ultimately do to her.

The Joker quieted but she could feel the intensity of his eyes on her. She wouldn't look at him, no way in _Hell _would she look at him.

"What would _you_ do if you were me, hmm?" He asked in a distracted yet weirdly sincere voice. "What would you do if you had to deal with someone who just wasn't _**cooperating**_?"

His voice rose and echoed off the walls of the enclosed office, making Michaela visibly shake, but she was determined to be calm and still not even look at him.

"What would..." The Joker smacked his lips thoughtfully. "Your _boyfriend_ do if you just weren't cooperating?"

Her heart strings tugged but she wouldn't take the bait; instead she let her mind wander to think about Roger, yes...what would Roger do if she wasn't cooperating? He would dominate, but not to scare her; he would dominate in his cheeky-bastard way, maybe tear off her clothes for good measure, and they're partake in the hottest, dirtiest sex imaginable all through the night. Michaela's skin tingled; what she would have given to be in bed with Roger right at that moment, in the middle of sex and ready to sleep for a day afterwards.

She flinched when she heard him jump off the desk, figuring now he would lower the boom on her, but she waited and nothing happened. She closed her eyes and let her head rest back against the wall; her head throbbed with pain worse then she ever imagined and she was tired. She had a terrible stomach ache and her limbs were cramping. She couldn't make a move to escape even if she wanted to.

A sound came from the Joker, much like he had slapped something on a hard surface. Opening her eyes she looked over for a moment and saw what he was doing; he was rummaging around in his pockets, both his suit and his pants pockets, and removing objects from them and placing them on the desk in front of him.

Michaela didn't have to arch her neck to see that they were knives.

She stared as though she'd never seen them before but knew they were going to do her a world of harm, and her blood ran cold as the Joker paused his movements and looked down at her.

"You wanna know why..." he smacked his lips, dragging yet another knife out of his pocket, and holding it up for her to see. He narrowed his eyes to her. "..._I use a knife?_"

Michaela stared up at him, watching as the Joker tilted the knife this way and that so the cool steel of the blade caught in the overhead light. He regarded it like an icon, something of great significance that he was only too happy to hold in his hand and see up close. His fascination with the instrument made Michaela shiver, as she had no doubt he had plenty of knowledge and experience in using it.

A smile stretched over the Joker's lips as he continued to look lovingly at the little knife. "Guns are too quick...one little pull of the trigger and it's all over, you can't..._savour_ all the little _**emotions**_."

The Joker slapped the knife down on the surface of the desk, making Michaela jump, and she lowered her eyes as the Joker reached into his pocket and pulled out yet _another_ knife, and just like the one before it, he held it up to the light, and as Michaela followed it, her breath caught in her chest. This knife was almost the size of a butcher knife.

The Joker licked his lips almost hungrily, and suddenly Michaela could feel her breath escape her open lips in shuddery little gasps. She was trembling; her hands were literally shaking in her lap, and although the door was so close, just a few feet away, the sight of that butcher knife kept her pinned to the floor.

"Sooo, you see...right before they die, people show you who they _really_ are." The Joker concluded, setting down the butcher knife, taking his time aligning it on the desk along with the others, and Michaela flinched as he turned his eyes towards her suddenly.

"Annnnnd..." drawled the Joker, torturously, and Michaela closed her eyes and wished he would just get it over with. "Since your...beloved _**beau**_ was _so kind _to appeal for your _**safety**__..._"

Michaela's eyes popped open and she turned her head sharply to look at him. He was staring right at her, glee alight in his dark eyes.

"I thought I would _savour every last __**emotion**_...so that when I meet the guy...I can tell him just who_**you**__ really_ _are_."

Her lips fell open and tears splashed onto the apples of her cheeks. And, without the energy or the stamina to say or do anything, she bowed her head to her chest and began to sob into her hands.

"Oh, no no no no no..." The Joker tutted, and forgetting his knifes he came towards her, bent down in front of her, and gently, _gently_, touched her forearms with his gloved hands. "No no no, Mi-kay-lah, look at me."

She couldn't bare to; she was barely aware of his presence there at all until he gripped her forearms and pulled them away from her face. She blinked up at him, her eyes stinging with tears.

"It's okay..." The Joker crooned in a sickly sweet voice, and actually swept a gloved hand over her cheek almost lovingly, and it made her shiver. "See, all _**Roger's**_ going to know is just how much you loved him."

Michaela's eyes closed and more tears escaped her eyes. The bastard knew Roger's name...

"He's going to know just how much you _**screamed**_ when I told you that, after my uh, little charade with the Batman...that my next stop was Unit #45 Gotham Towers Place...

Michaela sobbed openly. The bastard knew where they lived.

"And..." The Joker gripped her face with both gloved hands, wrenching her head up so that she'd look at him. She faced him dismally, repulsed by his face but too upset to do anything. "I'm gonna tell him just how much you **begged** me to leave him alone...just how much you begged me not to go to your apartment and tell Roger just how much you _**screamed**_, and how much you _**begged**_, and how much you _**bled**_...just like he begged for you."

His voice was harder, murderous; she could hear it so clearly, the deep, dark, dread in his voice that would be the last memory she would ever capture.

"But..." The Joker said, with a somewhat positive lilt in his voice. "I'm gonna do more than that, Mi-kay-lah. I'm gonna tell him that you love him...well, _loved_ him...which is a _**helluva**_ lot _**more**_ than you were willing to tell him on the _**telephone**_!"

He was snarling right in her face; she could feel the anger in his voice and she shook with fear, squeezing her eyes closed so she wouldn't have to look into the blackness of his eyes. All sorts of feelings were bottling up inside of her, fear first of all, and guilt...because he spoke the truth, didn't he? And it hurt.

She heard the wet smacking noise as he sucked at his scars and ran his tongue over them sloppily. Gripping her face harder, he leaned closer to her but she continued to squeeze her eyes shut. His hot breath fanned over her face as he spoke a little more gently.

"What's Roger gonna think when he learns you had him on the phone for the last time and didn't tell him you loved him, hmm?"

Michaela's eyes fluttered open and she stared at the Joker's black pools in horror. She was hardly aware of the fact his fingertips were starting to squeeze her skin; she was far too concentrated on the fact that he started giggling. "How'd you think he's gonna feel when he learns you were more interested in saving _yourself_ then you were in telling him _goodbye_-"

"Stop it..." Michaela hissed before she could stop herself.

But the Joker wouldn't stop; there was a strange sort of crazed glee alight in his eyes, like he was thoroughly enjoying this emotional torture he was putting her through, and he released his hands from her face so that he could dangle his arms over his knees. "You see, there's something I've always wondered about some people...something that I've been wondering about _you_, Mi-kay-lah. So, when there's a um...ultimatum, they'd rather save their own necks then help others. They're too self-involved, always thinking of themselves..."

Michaela nearly scoffed at him. Of course she'd been thinking of herself, her life was in _danger_, for fuck sake's.

But the Joker obviously wasn't finished. Sweeping a tongue over his lips, he stretched them into a full-bodied teasing grin, giving her a mischievous look. "But your **man**, oh he's different, yup. He _publicly _appealed for you, risked his own hide by showing me his face and asking me a favour. But all accounts, he's a _real_ saint. And how did you _**thank**_ this _saintly boyfriend _of yours?"

Fresh tears poured down Michaela's cheeks, and she shook her head slowly and miserably. "No..."

"Oh don't worry," the Joker said in his creepy, high-pitched tone. "I don't blame ya. It's human nature, risking someone to save your own skin."

It all slowly started to dawn on her. The Joker was right, the _bastard_ was right; Roger had risked everything, had shown his face, to make a public appeal for her safety, practically begged the Joker to let her go. And what did she do when she had him on the phone? She told him to go to the police with information of their whereabouts. She hadn't thanked him for risking his life for her, didn't tell him that she cared about him, didn't tell him goodbye...

Michaela bowed her head, shaking slowly, and raising her hands she buried her face in them. What kind of person was she?

The Joker giggled like the sick son-of-a-bitch he was, and leaning towards her snickered. "I just _**can't **__**wait**_ to see the look on Roger's _face_ when I tell him _alllllll_ about it."

"_STOP IT__**!**_" Michaela screamed, raising her eyes to shoot daggers at him and lashing out at him before she could help herself. "_STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!_"

There was silence in the room after her outburst, save for the sobs that escaped her throat, but he continued to linger there in front of her, which made her even angrier, not that she could do anything about it.

The Joker smacked his lips, and his eyes were boring holes into her. "So what's Roger gonna think of the _**real you**_, hmm?"

That was it. The damage was done. The Joker stood, a satisfied smile on his face, as he turned towards the desk and resumed the activity at hand.

Michaela sat against the wall, staring up sadly at the ceiling as tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. It was all over, it really was. She was going to die in that little office on who-knew-what-floor of the Wayne Enterprises building, and then he was going to find Roger and kill him in the apartment that together they had made a home.

She closed her eyes tightly, listening to the Joker as he mused away in his throat a strange little happy tune as he continued to rummage for knifes in his jacket. How Michaela wished it would all be over...just like a bad dream. She'd wake up and that would be the end of it, whatever the end would be. She'd just close her eyes and when she opened them, she'd be somewhere else entirely. Maybe Roger would be there too, after awhile, even if he hated her by the time all this was over for them...

But she knew that what was to come next was just agony, and misery, and pain. And it was going to last for an eternity.

Michaela sniffed and rose a hand to wipe away the tears from her eyes, just as pulled her hand up along her jacket, she winced slightly as pain swept over the length of her thumb, much like the pain and surprise of a paper cut.

_Fuck_, she spat to herself, and rose her hand up to see that the skin along her thumb had been sliced, as thin as a paper cut, and blood slowing began to protrude along the length of it. She made an immediate move to stick the wound against her lips and suck at the cut, but then she wondered, _what the hell did I cut myself on?_

She looked down, all along her person, and realized quite suddenly that she was still wearing her name tag. She nearly scoffed aloud, she had completely forgotten she was wearing it. But there was something else...it was _broken. _

Michaela sat up, looking up at the Joker to make sure he was still distracted, and then looked down at the name tag. Yes, it was broken on one side, leaving sharp corners and edges. But _when the hell had that happened?_

Looking at her thumb once more, administering the cut it had made along her thumb, she sucked in an anxious breath of realization. Time seemed to stop. It was sharp enough to cut her thumb, which meant it was sharp enough to cut skin. And if it was sharp enough to cut skin, it was sharp enough to be a _weapon_.

Nothing registered for Michaela at that moment _but _what the name tag had suddenly become. Watching the Joker's every move, she very carefully stuck her hand inside her shirt and removed the magnet that held her name tag in place. With her other hand, she captured the falling name tag before it could go clattering to the floor. With a shuddery breath and a pounding heart, she shifted the name tag to her right hand, positioning it so the edges stuck right out, and then she closed her hand around it tightly.

Michaela swallowed through a lump in her throat. She had to try, _she had to try._

It seemed like _forever_ before the Joker had laid out every knife he had just the way he wanted all along the desk, surveying them carefully, as though wondering which one to start with. When it seemed like they were perfectly aligned, he made a strange sound of approval in his throat and, moving around the desk, he removed his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of the chair.

Michaela looked away, clenching her eyes closed, all manner of thoughts running through her head, her heart drumming against her chest as though eager to just bust right out. She tried to keep from hyperventilating but was finding it a little more than challenging right at that moment. She was trying to be brave, determined...she could defend herself, however meekly, but that still didn't change the fact that the Joker was going to kill her and then kill Roger.

She couldn't help but shake her head miserably as he came towards her in long, heavy strides, a strange light showing in his black eyes and his smile stretching from ear to ear. Like a helpless, frightened child, Michaela shook her head from side to side, repeating in a quiet, sad voice: "No...no, no, no..."

It didn't deter him; he bent down, and gripping her arms he hoisted her right up onto her feet; she really was no match against his strength. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes yet again but she willed herself to stay strong, just at that moment. She needed all the strength she could muster.

The Joker stuck his face absurdly close to hers, as though he had perfectly meant to kiss her, but she turned away, unable to look into that face. He was breathing heavily in her face, and she could smell the greasepaint on him. She desperately tried to turn away from him, look away from him, just whatever she could do, but his grip on her was so strong that it made her helpless, she was completely helpless in his grasp.

"Look at me," he whispered to her, and that seemed to scare her most of all because she wouldn't, she simply _wouldn'_t_, _not until he gripped her face with one hand and the back of her neck with the other and _made _her. But she tried to turn away, repulsed as he swiped at his scars with his tongue; in a perfectly unhappy voice, he held her still and turned her forcefully to look at him. "_**Look**__ at me." _

Finally she did; she opened her eyes and looked right into his eyes, his big, black eyes, soulless and full of hate. She channeled all the hate she had in her being into her own glare, glaring back at him, despite her fear.

She shook with both fear and surprise as he smiled wide and giggled, a giddy giggle like a little boy about to play with his favourite toy, right in her face and it scared the crap out of her. She shook under his hold, fighting the tears, trying to gather all her strength, all the strength she had.

The Joker was grinning at her when he leaned a little closer, his eyes boring into hers. "_Why so serious?_"

What happened next happened in a blur.

The Joker moved her abruptly towards the desk, and for a moment Michaela lost her footing. But as she saw the bloodlust cloud in his black eyes as he held her in damn near paralysis, she knew, _it was now or never_.

Grounding her foot down into the floor to steady herself, she rose it up quick like lightening and, grunting in her throat a little, she planted her kneecap up into his groin, smashing his testicles with all the strength she had in her.

For a moment it seemed as though it hadn't worked, and she panicked for a split second, but then she realized his hands weren't on her anymore. He let out a straggled cry and stumbled back, both hands clutching his groin, and he collapsed down onto one knee, bowing his head, pulling his whole body together tightly.

A strange sound filled the room, bouncing off all the walls and reaching her ears to make her shudder. Laughter; deep, heavy, chaotic laughter. He was laughing.

Raising his head, the Joker looked up at her, laughing at her as though he admired the move as being totally gutsy but also totally stupid, and she could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, while he was laughing at her, as though it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever experienced.

Michaela stared down at him, shocked and confused; of all reactions, she hadn't expected that one. She'd expected him to bear his teeth and snarl, scream, moan and groan and roll around on the floor, writhing in pain. But instead her act of violence towards him had been greeted with laughter.

But then, collecting himself, the Joker lunged at her, his fingers raking along her leg, and she let out a scream. Jumping back, she gripped the broken name tag in her fist, and the next moment their eyes connected, she struck, striking her arm out towards him. The edge of the name tag caught his cheek and raked up towards his ear, a thin line of blood quickly appearing, and the Joker let out a shrill sound of pain and surprise and utter _fury. _He pressed a hand against his cheek while the other hand gripped at his groin. He was immobilized.

Michaela stared, wondering if her feeble plan had worked at all. Her blood ran cold when the Joker rose his eyes to her, slowly; no smile graced his face, the laughter was gone, all that remained was the heavy furious heaving of his breath. His eyes swelled like giant inhuman orbs and his lips curled into an animalistic snarl, revealing his yellow teeth; Michaela stared down at the truly frightening, murderous man who was going to _kill her _as soon as he got his _hands on her._

There wasn't a moment to lose. She looked towards the door and made a mad dash for it.

The Joker let out a loud snarl of rage and reached for her leg but he was hardly able to move. Michaela ran to the door, dropping the name tag, and wound her sweaty hands around the doorknob and anxiously tried to turn it. Behind her the Joker was growling like an ferocious animal and she could hear him trying to move and she was beginning to panic, thinking he had locked the door, when it seemed that finally, _finally_, the doorknob turned and the door opened.

Michaela ran as fast as her feet would carry her. She wasn't sure where the conference room was in lieu of that office, but she couldn't stop to consider it. She just ran down the hall as fast as she could, her heart thundering in her chest and in her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks from fear, and she found the door to a stairwell just as a very loud, very angry scream of fury echoed down the hallway and met with her ears.

Opening the door to the stairwell, she flung herself down the stairs two steps at a time, gripping the handrail for dear life as she practically vaulted down the stairs as fast as she could. She didn't care if she fell down and broke her neck, she just kept going. Tears streamed down her cheeks for the umpteenth time that night and she gulped them back, trying to steady her breathing, realizing just how close she had come to _death_ and now just how close she might have been to _freedom._

/

**A/N: ...O_O Well, I'm not even going to pretend like that wasn't **_**intense**_** to write. Hope it was just as intense for you to read. I hope to have the next chapter up before New Years. :P **

**MERRY CHRISTMAS everyone, and Happy Holidays!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Very special thanks to **Weird-To-Strange, Lorien Urbani, corbsxx, Bad Luck, Serendipity's tears, GorgeousGalaxy, ChristianBale Girl 2010, mehar23mia, Gir2345, AmberCyn, SatanReaper666, HoistTheColours, Anonymouse, Tammyyy, PutMeDown, **and especially to** chussiee93 **for your reviews!

* * *

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Nine**

**/**

Michaela got down to the 29th floor before she had to pause, collapse onto the steps, try to catch her breath and try to calm herself down. What had she done, _what had she done? _The Joker's vendetta against her must have been so profound, she wouldn't have been surprised if he threatened all of Gotham City if she wasn't handed over to him alive within the next hour. She was shaking so badly that she tried rubbing her arms to calm herself and realized she had goosebumps. The stairwell was freezing, and the soles of her feet were almost numb. She almost wished she hadn't left her stilettos up in that office.

Standing up on wobbly, shaky legs, Michaela pushed through the door to the hallway of the 29th floor. It was any other hallway in the building, leading left and right, the bank of elevators close by and a set of glass doors she figured led to the offices were directly in front of her. Although she hadn't taken note of the floor the Joker had been on, she knew she had been vaulting down the stairs for at least five full minutes. Who knew how far down she was from them. Either way, she felt an odd sense of security, knowing that the Joker didn't have enough goons to send searching every floor for her.

For the first time that night, she relaxed a little.

Michaela wandered through the glass doors, surprised to find them open. The office floor was dark, but the light from the neighboring skyscrapers provided plenty of light to wind her way between the cubicles. She walked in between desks, looking for a stray pair of shoes someone maybe left behind, a pair of sneakers or, better, some tennis shoes.

As she passed the first desk, she immediately noticed the phone, and she frowned, her stomach doing flip-flops inside her body. The Joker had been right about everything, everything concerning Roger and what he'd done for her and what she in turn didn't do for him. She couldn't let it be that way.

She picked up the phone and pressed the earpiece to her ear, and was halfway through dialing Roger's cell phone number when she realized she wasn't hearing the dial tone. The phone line was cut.

Squeezing her eyes together, Michaela sighed in aggravation and collapsed down onto her knees, gripping the edge of the desk with her hands. She tried hard not to let anymore tears fall, but she was just so frustrated, cold, and aching all over. There was a psychopathic murdering clown out for her blood, and now she couldn't even call Roger and make things right. There was an odd sensation coursing through her body, the feeling that this building would be her tomb, and she was powerless to do anything about it...unless of course she jumped out the window and hoped the Batman would catch her in mid-air.

Michaela stifled a snicker at the impossibility, which quickly turned into a sob, and she buried her face in her palm to keep from crying. Her nose was plugged, her sinuses swollen, begging her not to cry anymore and she didn't; she simply sat in a hunched position for a moment and considered her options.

First things first: if the phone lines were cut, she couldn't call for help; she'd have to find her own way out. Simple as that.

Sucking in an anxious breath, Michaela rose to her feet, rubbed her eyes with exhausted, and that was when a very peculiar sight caught her eye. In her peripheral vision, down to her left, she noticed what seemed like a floating, glowing Coca-Cola can, in the middle of the glass, but it only took a moment for Michaela's tired eyes to register that she was seeing the reflection of a pop machine.

Turning around, she was overjoyed to see a small kitchenette just beyond the next row of desks, where the pop machine was sat glowing and humming happily, and sitting right beside it sat a full-sized refrigerator.

Michaela gasped, tripping over her feet as she rushed past the obstacles of the surrounding desks and office chairs and made a beeline directly for the kitchenette, not stopping until her hands clasped the handle of the fridge door, and she pulled it open so fast that the shelves rattled.

She first laid eyes on a half-full jar of kosher dill pickles, and next to it was a tupperware tub full of a yellow, thick substance, what Michaela figured was potato salad. Without giving it a second thought, she pulled it out, threw off the lid, and ignoring the black writing that donned **Alyssa T. **on the surface of the container, she grabbed a spoon off the counter and dug in. It was bland, and not overly fresh, but it was solid going down her throat and settled in her stomach nicely, and that was all that mattered.

For a few blissful moments, she could forget about everything that was happening and just be happy to feel food in her system.

Michaela stopped when the spoon hit the bottom of the container and she was surprised that she'd eaten everything so fast. She put the container and the spoon in the sink and settled herself for a moment, wondering what her next step was.

First things first, she had to see what she could find, and the primary item was another pair of shoes. She left the kitchenette and began to scout among the desks, looking for a pair of shoes that may have been left behind. She moved quietly between the cubicles, observing the knick-knacks on the desktops which were undoubtably womanly, and bent low to see what she could see, but it was so dark she could hardly see anything. She sighed and then she yawned; she was so tired, and she wondered if there was an office around where she could lock the door, crawl under the desk and have a nap until Batman arrived. She was more than tempted to do it.

But she snapped herself out of it. Lying in wait she would be a sitting duck; she had to get out, simple as that.

Wearily, she continued her search amongst the desks for a pair of shoes, wandering closer and closer to the windows, where the neighboring skyscrapers were looming, glowing and towering. Distantly she could hear sirens, but she knew she was too far up to hope to catch a glimpse of the police force which would have undoubtably gathered at the base of the building following that last news report.

Then, Michaela stopped for a moment. Who was to say that the police weren't combing over the tower? Perhaps they had found their way in and were making their steady way through the numerous floors in search of the Joker. Perhaps that was why he had moved them to another floor, to a room that had no windows.

Taking in a shaky breath, she wondered...maybe if she stayed put, and just waited until the police came up...

But then she shook her head, defeated. The Joker was smarter than that, he would have foreseen something like this; he was always one step ahead of the game, and he would have prepared for a situation of this type in some way, she didn't know how, exactly, but he would have come up with some sort of plan, a kind of back-up plan, or some hidden obstacle to keep the police away from the Wayne Tower.

Michaela rose her head and looked around, searching the walls for a flat-screen TV. If there was any sort of obstacle keeping the police out of Wayne Tower, surely they were reporting it on Gotham City News right at that moment. The phone lines were cut, but the power was not; if she could find a television and get an update on what was happening, she could plan her escape route a little better.

She wandered back into the darker corners of the office, into the narrow hallways that led further back into private offices and boardrooms. Michaela swallowed as she left the office area and entered a long hallway that was almost entirely dark. She made her way through by gliding her fingertips along the solid wood paneling of the hallway walls. It was so eerily quiet that every breath that left her lips sounded like wind gusting in through an open window, and although her heart was not beating nearly as fast, she was far from relaxed.

Feeling the breakaway in the walls which were assuredly a door on her right side, Michaela felt along the smooth wood for a doorknob. Finding it at last, she turned it and tried not to be too discouraged to find it locked. Sighing, she pressed on, keeping herself conscious of doors on both sides of the hallway. As she walked along, she tried a second doorknob on her right side and found it locked. Moving along she tried a third on her right side and found it locked. Annoyed, she tried a doorknob on her left side and gasped in surprise when the door opened easily.

Michaela stopped for a moment, swallowed through the lump in her throat, and for a moment considered going back to the kitchenette for a drink of water before progressing; perhaps the potato salad had not been the best idea after all. But she shook her head as she concluded there would be plenty of time for that later, and so she pressed on into the room with the open door.

Running her hand on the wall for the light switch, she found it easily and clicked on four lights, squeezing her eyes together as the sudden brightness shocked her eyes, and adjusting slowly she found herself standing in a very handsome office, not unlike the one the Joker had kept her in. Stepping inside she was relieved to feel carpet on her freezing feet, and even more relieved to find a smooth, black flat-screen TV sitting against the far wall.

Hurrying over to it, she brushed her fingers along the side of the screen, searching for the power button. But when her fingers brushed nothing but sleek glass, she looked around for a remote control. Her eyes drawn to the desk, she saw the remote sitting next to what looked like a very high-end, brand new computer. She walked to the desk, picked up the remote, pointed it to the TV, and pressed the power button.

The screen came to life and she was enlightened to see an episode of Iron Chef America was on, but shaking her head she pressed the buttons to get to channel three, and there was Jack Ryder in the middle of an interview with someone.

Michaela turned up the volume and watched intently. The screen was split between Jack Ryder and his interviewee, an older, heavy-set man with thick coke-bottle glasses, a bald head, and a grisly beard that covered a massive square chin. Michaela watched for a moment with a skeptical eye.

"_So, Dr. Strange, you truly feel that it is within the Joker's mindset to destroy Gotham until Batman makes a reappearance?" _Jack Ryder asked, his eyes intent on Michaela but he was obviously addressing his interviewee.

Michaela pursed her lips curiously. The light caught on this Dr. Strange's glasses as he cleared his throat. _"In my professional opinion, it is foreseeable, yes."_

This Dr. Strange spoke with a heavy accent that Michaela couldn't decipher. She waited another moment, not really paying attention to the interview, when the subtitle appeared beneath him. _Dr. Hugo Strange, Psy.D., Director of Special Operations at Arkham Asylum._

Michaela sighed, letting her arm drop to her side. Growing steadily uninterested in the interview, she turned her back to the TV and looked at the chair tucked underneath the desk and decided to make herself comfortable while she was waiting for the news report to change. She slumped into the leather chair, more than happy to get off her aching feet, and was once again tempted to lock the door, crawl under the desk, and fall asleep.

Letting her feet lie flat on the floor, she spun the chair back and forth for a moment, her eyes growing heavy. It was considerably warmer in the office than it had been in the cubicle area. If there had been a couch in the office, she would have been a goner.

Suddenly her foot brushed something hard on the floor, and pushing the chair out a little, she leaned forward to looked under the desk. Her breath caught in her throat. It was a pair of shoes!

Michaela leapt forward to seize them, bringing them out into the light and sighing in aggravation as she beheld a pair of men's lace-ups which were assuredly about three sizes too big. Biting down on her lower lip, she wondered if she tied the laces really tight, maybe they would be wearable. She decided it would be worth a shot, if only to warm her feet a little.

She set them down on the floor and slipped her feet into them, laughing a little because they were so big, they looked like really expensive clown on her little feet. But she supposed they would do until she found something else. Or until she had enough of slipping around to risk going barefoot again.

Bending over, Michaela proceeded to tie the shoes, pulling on the laces tightly, when all of a sudden the prep music for Gotham City News was heard, and Michaela looked up just in time to see the screen change.

It was Jack Ryder, split screen once again, but the enigmatic Dr. Strange was gone and in his place was a reporter surrounded my police cruiser flashes with what was assuredly a building in the background. Michaela sat up and turned up the volume.

"_We go live to Dale Schneider now at the base of Wayne Tower where less than an hour ago, it was revealed by an anonymous tip to be the hiding place of the Joker, and quite possibly where he is keeping several hostages. Dale, what's the situation there?"_

The reporter, Dale Schneider, had a very hopeless look on his face. "_Well Jack, police cruisers have surrounded the base of Wayne Tower but all efforts to enter the tower so far have been futile. Now Jack, the entranceway to the lobby is all glass, but I've just spoken to Commissioner Gordon, who says that there is something obstructing the entranceway from the inside. Police failed to disclose what they think could be blocking their way, but as of now are considering other ways to get inside the tower."_

Michaela scowled. _Of course. _The Joker blocked the doors from the inside so that the police on the ground couldn't find their way in, but the Batman could fly his way to the top and make an appearance. It made perfect sense, really.

Bowing her head into her lap, Michaela ran her hands through her hair frustratedly. As far as she could see, she had two options. She could stay put, hope the Joker didn't find her, and wait until the Batman appeared so she could cautiously make her way out. Or, she could make her way down to the lobby, see what was blocking the doors, and possibly find her way out and into protective police custody.

It was dangerous, but if she could find her way out, she could let the police in, and then they could take it from there. She could talk to the police, give her statement, and go home to Roger.

Nodding her head, she knew that's what she had to do. She'd have to at least try.

Tying up the shoes as tight as she could, Michaela stood up, took one last look at the TV, and turned it off. Then, after setting down the remote, she considered the best way to get down to the lobby. The elevators would have cameras for sure, and knowing the Joker, he probably had someone watching the security cameras. But if she took the stairs, she'd run the risk of being heard by one of the goons searching the floors for her.

It was an obvious choice. In an elevator, she'd be trapped. At least in the stairwell she could vault down the flights as she had done before. It was settled; she'd take the stairs.

Walking towards the door, and finding it quite difficult in the overly large shoes she was wearing, Michaela neglected to turn the lights off and opened the door wide so she could make her way down the hallway from where she came. Hugging herself, she slipped along, feeling rather ridiculous in the huge shoes but glad that there was no one around to see. Despite feeling ridiculous, they were warmer than going barefoot, and that was a start, at least.

Once she reached the open office area, she began walking in the direction of the kitchenette. Her throat was completely parched, partially from crying so much throughout the duration of the evening. Going past the quiet cubicles into the kitchenette, she opened the fridge door once again and was happy to see an unopened bottle of spring water sitting in the fridge door. She picked it up, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink. It was cold and burned her throat at first, but it was so good that she polished off a third of the bottle in one gulp. Catching her breath, she recapped the bottle and resolved to take it with her. Closing the fridge door, she left the kitchenette and wandered to the glass doors that led to the bank of elevators.

Everywhere she went was so eerily quiet; it was a welcome change from the Joker's cackling and the noise from the television. Looking to the door to the stairwell, she schlepped forward in the big shoes and opened the door.

And was met with a clown mask.

Michaela froze, and so did the goon, who had been coming down the stairs and was just about to reach the landing when she pushed the door open. They stared at each other for a moment before the clown pounced into action, launching himself off the stairs towards her, and in a quick moment of utter panic, Michaela dropped the water bottle and gripped the handle to the door and pulled it back, pressing one foot against the wall and pulling as she felt the goon trying to open the door.

Shuddery little gasps of fear escaped Michaela as she realized she was no match for his strength and soon she'd have to do something else to avoid capture. Still holding the door back with all her might, Michaela craned her neck back, wondering if she could make it into the dark office area before the goon could catch her. With the shoes she was wearing, she didn't think she would get very far, but she knew if she could reach the office, she could maybe find something she could use as a weapon.

The clown was pulling the door and Michaela's grip was starting to fail her. Breathing heavily in fear, she pulled back on the door as hard as she could, and when the clown seemed to pulled with newfound vigor, she planted her feet firmly on the ground and let go of her grip on the door handle.

The door flew open, and the clown, who had been pulling hard, fell back towards the stairs, letting out an aggravated sound of pain. Michaela looked at him for only a moment before turning on her heels and running for the open office.

Running in the shoes was worse than she thought; she barely made it to the glass doors without falling down. She slammed herself into the glass door, throwing it open, just as the door to the stairwell behind her slammed open, hitting the wall. Michaela scanned the room, and without seeing anything that prove useful as a weapon, the next thing that sprang to her mind was to _hide._

She ran to the right, just as she heard heavy footsteps behind her, and she slid down onto the carpet, her knees skinning in the process, and she pressed herself up against one of the desks. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from breathing too loudly; she could hear the angry breathing of the clown as he advanced into the room, his footsteps heavy on the carpet.

Michaela listened carefully, and could hear that he seemed to be moving away from her, but she could still hear the heaviness in his breathing. She desperately tried to calm herself, steady her breathing and figure out what to do. If the clown could move himself far enough away from the glass doors, she could possibly sneak out and make a run for it.

"That you who scratched up the boss's face?" The clown asked the empty air surrounding them with an accusatory tone. Michaela held her breath for a moment; his voice was far away, it seemed. She wanted to look around the corner to see if she could see him, but it seemed far too risky.

The clown chuckled maliciously, sending a shiver down Michaela's spine. "Wasn't too happy about that, I don't mind telling you. Not happy _at all_." The clown taunted, and kicked an office chair with enough strength that it went toppling onto its side, making Michaela jump.

Michaela looked to her side, and quietly got onto her hands and knees and crept forward to the next cubicle. She could hear the clown walking around, but he seemed to be on the other end of the office. Swallowing tightly, Michaela continued to creep along until she was sitting up against another desk. She was moving closer to the window, she realized, which was not where she wanted to go, but she was mostly interested in putting distance between the two of them more than anything.

The clown knocked over a garbage can and was starting to get frustrated; Michaela could hear little growls of anger coming from him, and that was incentive enough to keep moving. She crawled to the desk ahead of her, creeping around the walls until she was pressing her back against the file cabinet. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and try to calm herself down.

But she could hear the clown's footsteps, and they were headed right in her direction.

Quickly, Michaela crawled underneath the desk and pulled herself into a tight little ball in what seemed to the be the darkest corner. Again she pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from breathing too loudly and listened carefully. The clown was walking down the length of the windows along the desks and was right behind her. Michaela pressed her chin into her chest and squeezed her eyes shut -

- and her knee pressed against a switch on a power bar on the floor beside her. Michaela looked, questioning what had just happened, and gasped when the computer on the desk above her started up.

The clown's footsteps literally launched around the cubicle, and she shivered as his feet and ankles came into view. She tried to move back up against the wall but there was nowhere to go.

She let out a startled scream as he bent down suddenly, his terrifying clown mask perfectly visible even in the darkness. Michaela started to shake; her entire body was telling her to get out from under the desk and run away, even just chance it, anything to get away from him. But alas, she was powerless.

The clown let out a sigh through his flared nostrils. "There you are."

Suddenly, before she even had time to react, the clown reached under the desk and Michaela screamed a little as he clenched her hair with his hand and pulled. Michaela squeezed her eyes shut and slowly crawled out from under the desk, the pain on her scalp too much to bear. The clown continued to pull until she was almost to her feet, and he pressed her back against the desk, the small of her back connecting with the wood harshly. He stuck his clown mask right in her face, making her try to turn away, but his grip on her hair was so painful that she couldn't move at all. Desperately her hand scanned the desk behind her to see if there was anything handy she could use.

"I hear you're more trouble than you're worth," the clown spat at her, and for a moment she realized that this clown had a different voice than the two clowns that were upstairs with the Joker. Michaela frowned but as the clown tugged on her hair, she let out a cry of pain. "Don't make me pull your hair out. Boss wants you back _alive._"

Michaela gasped in shock and fear at that particular comment, just as her fingers grazed something cool and hard on the desk. Judging from the shape of it, it seemed to be a stapler. Good enough.

Without hesitating, she clenched the stapler in her hand, and before anything else could be said or done, she muscled all her power into her right arm and swung up as hard as she could. The stapler collided with the side of the clown's head and he let out an alarmed sound of pain and surprise, releasing her hair and tumbling back. Staring at him, she watched as he toppled backward onto his butt. Shocked that she had floored him, she didn't even think to run until he was looking up at him.

Michaela turned on her heel and meant to run out of the office, but in an instant she felt his hand wrap around her ankle and her feet slid against the carpet floor. She went flying forward, putting her arms out to ease her fall, but she collided harshly with the floor, landing badly on one knee, and let out a cry of pain as the carpet burned all along the skin of her shins.

His hand was scratching at her ankle and Michaela pushed herself up onto her knees, despite the terrible pain, and tried to crawl away. The clown pulled relentlessly on her ankle to bring her back, and looking behind her she rose her free foot and tried to kick him in the face. He was growling behind her, completely enraged.

Her first kick went to the air as he cleverly dodged her, but the second caught him directly on the chin and he let out another cry of pain. If only she had continued to wear her stilettos for the evening, she could have shoved the heel right into his eye and made a desperate run for it.

Despite the fact she'd kicked his face, his grip on her only seemed to tighten, and in a desperate attempt to get away, she looked behind her and went to kick his face again. Once more, she hoped, would stun him long enough and she could climb to her feet.

The next kick was harder, stronger, and the clown caught it right on the front of the mask, and he went back onto the carpet, groaning with pain. Michaela wasted no time; despite the fact her legs were a mess, she struggled up onto her feet. Then, without hesitating, she slipped out of the too-big shoes and raced around the cubicle, directly for the bank of elevators.

Behind her she could hear the clown groaning and then snarling in frustrating as he seemed to get up, but Michaela launched herself through the glass doors and into the bank of elevators, where she smacked her palm against the DOWN button and watched it light up. To her immediate surprise, the elevator was only a few floors up, according to the lights above the elevator doors. Trembling, she looked to the glass doors that led to the office, and could hear obvious sounds of pain from the clown, but he seemed to be taking his time. Perhaps she had hurt him worse than she thought.

Fidgeting uncontrollably, Michaela slammed her palm against the DOWN button three more times, looking to the stairwell door, but she knew the elevator would make for a faster escape. "C'mon, goddamn it!"

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and just as the clown reached the glass doors, Michaela threw herself into the elevator and pushed the DOORS CLOSED button frantically. The clown stumbled towards the elevator just as the doors were closing and Michaela backed up against the wall of the elevator, watching as the clown dove to put his arm in the way of the door. Michaela screamed as she watched the clown's arm flail against the door, but as the door automatically opened a little, he pulled his arm back, and then the door closed.

It wasn't until she could feel the elevator descending that Michaela even realized how fast her heart was beating, and how much she was panting. She slid down to the floor of the elevator, squeezing her eyes closed and taking in gulps of air and breathing out shuddery sighs of great relief. She observed her legs with a touch of agony; her knees were skinned and on the verge of bleeding, and the skin along her shins were sticky with rug burn.

Michaela shook her head. _What a nightmare._

And then she looked up and saw the black domed camera up in the corner of the elevator.

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**A/N: I'm REALLY sorry about how long it took to update. I hit a brick wall with this story just after the last update, but I think I've got it on the right track now. Hope you enjoyed. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I don't know why, but this has been an EXTREMELY difficult story for me to write, and so I'm very sorry about the amount of time between updates. I WILL finish this story, even if it kills me; it just might take me a little while. Very special thanks to **ChristianBale Girl 2010, Insanity's Ragdoll, Gir2345, Hollywoodlover95, Moka-girl, corbsxx, chussiee93, mehar23mia, anonymous, BloodyKirai, AGuru , Lorien Urbani, Sister Madly, anna, Karen, Dissolved Starr, TheTalkingCupcake, XxAniketosxX, crazyinabottle, eye of the divine, **and** SS-lover06.**

* * *

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Ten**

**/**

Michaela remembered it took her four days to get up the nerve to call Roger; she had his number on the fridge with one of her fruit magnets, the green highlighter that Roger wrote with seemed to get brighter and brighter every day, as though constantly trying to get her attention; constantly reminding her to call. She saw the usage of this number in accordance to the three day rule, which she decided after the second day was totally stupid, since she had borrowed his hoodie and he probably wanted it back. This was no matter of social engagement.

Michaela finally got up the nerve to call him, telling herself that it was all part of their agreement - that she would call when she was getting sick of looking at the canary yellow hoodie - and they would make arrangements for her to give the hoodie back to him. Afterwards, life would go on, come what may, sunrise sunset, and all that jazz.

Instead (but she may have already known this), he had her at hello.

"He-llo, MotionWurz Web Designs, where our design is your website's divine! Roger speaking." After only the second ring.

Michaela burst into a big smile because she couldn't help it. She curled the telephone cord in between her fingers and pressed her back against the kitchen counter, trying to feel more grounded. There was something so great about his voice, something so cheeky and juvenile but utterly charming...and if he picked up the phone like that most of the time, well Michaela figured maybe he would be getting quite a few "hang up" calls in the near future.

"Hi..." she said a little awkwardly, and she was positive of two things: one, that she was blushing, and two that he probably had the weirdest look on his face on the other end of the phone. So Michaela cleared her throat and tried to speak a little more clearly. "Um, hi."

She heard him giggle a little on the other end of the phone. "Hey there, how's it going?"

"Good," and then she told herself to snap out of it and get to the point. "You...probably don't remember me, we met the other day at the uh, the plaza in the financial sector downtown? I uh, borrowed your hoodie."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and she could have sworn she heard him utter _what the fuck_ if even silently, but then there came an eruption of enthusiasm. "Oh, of _course! _Michaela, right? Geez Michaela, what are you talking about, I wouldn't remember you? You gave me the bitch-out of a lifetime, I'll _always _remember that!"

Michaela laughed a little nervously into the phone, although she didn't know why. They were talking on the phone, not face to face. This wasn't a date. "Yeah, well I just realized that I still have your hoodie, and I wanted to get it back to you."

"Ah, getting sick of looking at the stupid thing, are you?" Roger asked over the phone, chuckling a little. "It's all right, I know it's hideous. Think if I spill grape pop all over that thing it'll turn blue or something?"

Again Michaela couldn't help but laugh. He caught her completely off guard with his general good-nature. She'd never met a man quite like him before. "So uh, maybe I could bring it by your office sometime soon?"

He made a contemplative noise on the other end of the phone, and Michaela found herself biting her lower lip. She hoped the offer to bring it to his office didn't offend him or anything; charming or not, he was still a complete stranger, and she wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of giving him her address and having him come by at some obscure time.

She continued curling her fingers anxiously in the phone cord when he finally spoke up. "I've got a better idea. Why don't I come by _your _office, you can give me my hoodie _and _that nice new top of yours that I ruined. We'll take it to the dry cleaners and uh, get lunch or something."

Michaela's breath caught in her throat and she couldn't help the big smile that forced itself upon her lips. She had been hoping, _hoping _that calling him back would lead to an invitation to do something together; she was just petrified at the idea of rejection...or disinterest. "Wow, that uh...that sounds really great, actually. I'd love to."

She could literally picture that giant toothy smile on him at that moment. "Cool, well how's tomorrow looking for ya? I've got a meeting that I'm sure as hell not going to; I need an afternoon appointment."

Michaela thought for a moment and decided that she didn't have to do anything prudent in the city the next day on her lunch hour...and she was kinda flattered, in a strange way, that he would see her as an excuse for not going to a meeting. "Tomorrow's great. I take lunch at 1:00pm, I...hope that's not too late."

"Nah, nah, it's perfect." Roger replied, and she could hear the shuffling of papers over the phone. "Where's your office, I'll swing by and pick you up."

"Oh, well it's at the Onyx Tower downtown..." Michaela told her, and she could hear the scratching of a pen or pencil on the other end as he wrote everything down. "It's the Derry and Williams offices up on the ninth floor. You'll need to get a visitor pass to come up..."

"Okay, no problem..." Roger said a little distantly, and she could tell he finished writing down the location. "All right, well I will see you there tomorrow at 1:00."

"Okay, sounds great." Michaela said, unable to keep from smiling widely. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah, me too." Roger replied, sounding excited. "See you soon, Michaela."

When he hung up, and she hung up, she couldn't help but squeal a little in excitement. It had been forever since she had been out with someone new; she had taken her chances with a few guys at the office, going for beers or going to a movie or going to the company Christmas parties together, but it never seemed to work. The higher-ups didn't seem to like fraternizing with the interns, and besides, they had all been older than her by at least five years, so there was never much to talk about because they rarely had the same things in common. By the time Michaela made the decision that dating men in her office was a bad idea, she was almost off the idea of men altogether.

Who'd have thought all it'd take was a bad job interview and a Big Gulp of grape soda to change things around a little?

**/**

The next day, when all was said and done, Michaela _forgot _the damn hoodie.

She had spent so much time that morning deciding what she was going to wear; she pulled apart half her closet looking for something nice, but not too professional-looking. Something classy, but not too dressy. Something modern, but not too weird. In the end she resorted to a teal button-up blouse and black trousers that made her look both stylish and comfortable, and she was proud with her selection. On her way to work, she fussed over her makeup, wondering if she should wear eyeshadow, or if her eyebrows needed plucking, or if her mascara was too goopy and she needed to pick up a new one at the drugstore downstairs on her first coffee break. By the time noon rolled around, she was not only fidgeting with excitement, but she realized, to her utmost horror, that she had _forgotten _the stupid hoodie which was really the only reason they were meeting to begin with!

She felt like such an idiot, and banged her head on the surface of her desk enough times to make Danielle, the girl at the desk next to her, look at her sideways while she was on the phone with someone. Michaela recovered, deciding that she'd just explain to Roger that she had forgotten, and that she'd be happy to bring it by his office maybe the next day or the day after.

When the receptionist called her phone to tell her that someone had come to see her, Michaela quickly checked her hair, her makeup, the amount of cleavage she was showing, and her teeth, since she had had a poppyseed bagel that morning for breakfast. She looked pretty good, she thought, and even if Roger was disappointed he wasn't getting his hoodie back right away, at least he'd have an attractive lunch date.

As she made her way to the front desk, she spotted him almost instantly. He was leaning over the receptionist's desk as though looking at something on her computer screen, and that gave Michaela pause for a moment. Sure, he was a friendly guy, but she had never considered the fact that maybe he was one of those guys who flirted with anything that walked. He continued to chitchat with the receptionist, and Michaela simply shook her head. It was just a lunch date, they weren't getting married or anything.

When she pushed open the glass door into the reception area, Roger's eyes were pulled away from the receptionist's computer and he looked at her, and he broke into a great big smile. Michaela couldn't help but feel a little weak in the knees, the way he smiled at her like that. He looked good, wearing a lime green shirt under a stylish black jacket and deep grey designer jeans. He hadn't shaved but it made him look even better, if that was possible, and the green of his shirt made the blue of his eyes absolutely pop.

Completely abandoning the receptionist, he strode up to her, grinning that massive grin she was beginning to grow attached to. "Well hey, here you are. I got the right place and everything, first try. Pretty good, huh?"

Michaela grinned, and she meant to immediately tell him that she had forgotten the hoodie, and that if he wanted to cancel lunch, she'd understand, but she didn't have a chance to when Roger looked her over, maintaining his grin. "You look great, that blue's the perfect colour on you."

She looked down at her shirt and shrugged, not sure what else to say. "Thanks, it's one of my favourites." and then she gestured to him. "You look great too."

Roger looked down at his clothes and then laughed a little. "Yeah I figured of any of the fluorescent colours I'd wear, the alien green would be the least offensive, huh? Balances nicely with the trees and all."

_And with your eyes_ Michaela wanted to point out, but she held it back, thinking it was probably better to keep comments like that reserved for later...if she needed them.

Roger gestured towards the door. "Anyway, are you hungry? Do you like falafels? I know the most incredible little falafel shop, it's not far from here, it's totally deserted, I guarantee! Gotham's best-hidden secret."

Michaela grinned and nodded. "Yeah, a falafel sounds great."

"Cool," Roger said, and without another look at the receptionist, which Michaela took note of almost immediately, they walked towards the bank of elevators, where Roger pressed the DOWN button with his thumb, and they were standing close enough to each other that Michaela got a whiff of his gorgeous cologne. It made her want to melt.

"So, uh..." Michaela cleared her throat a little, trying to think of something they could talk about while they waited for the elevator. "That was quite the greeting you gave me on the phone yesterday...you're a designer?"

Roger grinned at her again, that toothy pearly grin. "Yup, web based design, mostly for the art scene in and around Gotham."

"Oh," Michaela wasn't really sure what was all involved in web based design, but knowing the art scene in Gotham City, it must have been a full time job. "That's really cool. So you do the designs yourself?"

"Mostly," Roger chewed on his thumbnail. "Our clients email us telling us what they have in mind for slogans or logos or concert posters, shit like that...then we make them a few demos, send them back, take suggestions, redo them, post them on the web..."

Michaela smiled whole-heartedly. "You enjoy it?"

"Oh yeah," Roger said, looking over at her. "It's all I did when I was in university, switched out of an engineering major to go into web design. Parents were not pleased, not at all."

The elevator door opened, and Michaela was surprised to find it was empty. Usually around the lunch hour, the elevators were packed with people coming and going, but at the same time it was nice to stand in a perfectly deserted elevator with a man you were growing steadily interested in.

Roger hit the MAIN FLOOR button with his thumb and the doors closed. They were silent the first couple of floors; Michaela thought he was probably going to ask her exactly what it was she did at Derry and Williams and she was dreading the confession that it wasn't nearly as exciting or interesting as his job. She was trying to think of ways she could glam it up a bit when Roger nudged her playfully with his elbow.

"Hey..." he whispered, and she looked at him and noticed he was looking at the corner of the elevator ceiling. "You see that?"

Michaela looked to where he was looking and noticed the camera in the upright corner of the elevator. She'd noticed them a few times before, and always tried to remind herself that they were there so that she wouldn't be tempted to blow her nose or pick a wedgie or anything going down on the elevator.

Roger, however, had more scandalous ideas, it seemed. "I betcha those are there to make sure people don't make out in the elevator. If you think about it, if you were trying to get away from the office for a quickie, you could hit the stop button and then go right at it against the wall here but then _uh oh_, look who's watching, and next thing you know you're fired from your job _but_ you're getting offers to do porn films after your escapade goes up all over YouTube."

Michaela had to suck in a breath, she was laughing so hard. Usually crass humor like that would have startled her in the past, but Roger just made everything sound so funny. Roger laughed beside her as she desperately tried to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks, but she knew that it was too late.

When she recovered, Roger simply smirked at her. "Let's wave to it."

And they did. Standing side by side, they stood and waved at the camera.

Roger laughed a little as they were waving to the camera. "What d'you think the security guards are thinking, looking at us right now? One guy's probably like _what the hell are those two schmucks doing? _His buddy's all like, _We have specific rules: do not taunt the camera! C'mon Bill, let's get them! _And they pick up AK47s and go charging out of the office-"

Michaela bent over for a moment, trying to catch her breath, she was laughing so hard. "Why would the guards have AK47s? Why wouldn't they just have regular pistols?" she wheezed.

"Well," Roger scoffed a little, as if it were obvious. "If you're gonna take down two goofs waving to the camera cheekily, they need as much firepower as they can get."

Michaela was still laughing, couldn't stop smiling, and waved at the camera at the same time, hardly noticing that Roger had not asked once, not _once_, if she'd brought his hoodie.

**/**

Staring up at the camera in the elevator in the Wayne Enterprises building, with her kneecap bleeding and her shins burning, her feet freezing and her stomach upset and her face red and sticky with tears, Michaela simply let out a defeated sigh, smiled just a little, rose her hand, and waved to the camera. She didn't care who was looking at her. Let them see.

The descent to the lobby seemed to take forever - who'd have thought 29 floors took so long? - and Michaela sat against the elevator wall like a sack of potatoes, too weary to move. The ride down was smooth and nearly lulled her to sleep; her eyelids were drooping and her limbs felt so heavy with exhaustion. She felt like she could have gone to bed and slept for a few days, if she wanted to. Come to think of it, that was exactly what she was going to do...if she ever got out.

When the elevator reached the third floor, Michaela sighed heavily and forced herself up onto her feet. She'd be especially surprised if she got out of this without her feet completely freezing. Her feet were so cold she could barely feel her toes. Suddenly leaving behind those overly big shoes didn't seem like one of her better ideas. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think that the sooner she got out of the tower, the sooner she could go home, sit in a nice, hot bath, and go to bed for a few days.

The elevator came to a steady stop, and the bell dinged clearly, and the elevator doors opened ever so slowly. Opening her eyes, Michaela stood perfectly still for a moment, listening intently for any noises or sounds that might come from the lobby. She had been worried that perhaps the Joker had several clowns patrolling the lobby to make sure the GCPD didn't make their way in...but the more she listened, the more she was met with nothing but silence.

Sucking in a timid breath, she took a step outside the elevator and surveyed along the bank of elevators. The floor was a lovely gray marble that she figured was probably colder to the touch then any surface she had been met with so far. Looking down to her left, away from the bank of elevators, she was met with an enormous expanse of space, the biggest lobby she had ever seen in her life, and she could see that the walls were entirely glass, but just as she'd heard on the news, there was something covering the glass, and Michaela couldn't make out exactly what it was from where she was standing.

Looking around once more to make sure she was alone, she stepped out of the elevator completely and listened, but the lobby was deserted. She took a moment and scanned the tops of the elevators to better determine where they all were, to make sure that the Joker himself wasn't riding down on one right at that moment to intercept her escape. But from what she could see, all the elevators were lingering up in the high floors, or sitting right there in the lobby. None of them were being called.

Easing a little, she stepped out into the massive expanse that was the lobby, simply marveling at its size and design; easily the size of a football field, the floors were sleek, polished gray marble, and the reception desk was a large slab of black marble cut to dramatically and beautifully rest again the wall close to the bank of elevators; it was adorned with the latest and most expensive looking computers and telephones and various other electronics. The logo for Wayne Enterprises rested up above the reception desk in what looked like giant titanium, and on the other side of the reception desk there was a large decorative fountain that had been turned off, but the water still reflected prettily against the marble walls. It was all very beautiful and very modern; obviously when the tower was built, they had spared no expense.

Her eyes suddenly fixing on the doors, and the walls around them that would have been made of glass, Michaela was surprised to find that the glass wall was completely covered in something, just as they had reported on the news.

Frowning, Michaela crossed the immense lobby floor in quick strides. Her feet were freezing cold, and the marble wasn't helping at all. But she rushed as fast as she could until she was practically nose to nose with what should have been the glass walls. They were covered, from top to bottom, with a thick, lime-green substance. Cautiously, Michaela reached forward and touched it, the pad of her pointer finger sinking in. It felt like Silly Putty.

Harbouring a guess, Michaela went with plastic explosives.

"Great..." she muttered to herself, dropping her arm to her side and looking along the length of the wall, now fully covered with plastic explosives. But then again, this had been part of his plan all along, hadn't it? The Joker was going to take out everyone, group by group, and then finish with bringing down Wayne Enterprises at the base.

It was so dastardly that it couldn't have been thought up by anyone _but _the Joker.

Michaela hugged herself for comfort, trying to tell herself that it wouldn't come to that. The Batman would come, surely he would. He must have seen the news report, he must have seen the reporters talking about how entry to the building was blocked. Surely he'd come and save them.

It made Michaela so frustrated and angry to know that on the other side of this wall of plastic explosives, the police were out there in large numbers.

Turning around, Michaela ventured along the lobby, her eyes taking in everything, looking up to the ceiling that was so high above her head, and down to the floor where her muddled reflection was staring up at her. She quickly went to the reception desk and maneuvered around it, pulling out one of the swivel chairs and sitting down to take her aching feet off the cold floor. She knew there had to be a map somewhere; the reception area always had maps, but the desk was so immaculately tidy that she didn't see any spots for drawers or file folders, nowhere to put spare pieces of paper. Biting down on her lip, she shook the mouse to the computer to see if it would start up, but to her great disappointment, it didn't. Her brow furrowed; surely there would have been a security guard or watching this desk before the Joker brought them into the tower. What had happened to him?

Instinctively she set her feet down on the cold floor, feeling utterly defeated, and realized that sitting so perfectly under her feet was a pair of women's black ballerina flats. Gasping, she launched back in the swivel chair, fetching them immediately from under the desk, and frantically slipped her feet into them. They fit almost perfectly, and when Michaela sat her properly adorned feet down on the floor, they felt comfortable too, and Michaela nearly burst into tears.

With newfound vigor, Michaela searched all the confines of the receptionist desk. There was very little to be found except for designer pens and paperweights, which Michaela found to be ridiculous; surely there was a map of the building here _somewhere_, even something elementary that they gave to new employees. But the more she searched, the less she came up with, and it severely annoyed her. Finally, giving up with a huff, she slammed herself into the back of the chair and crossed her arms over her chest, like a frustrated child.

Was there absolutely no way of getting out of this mess?

Sighing in disappointment as much as exasperation, Michaela forced herself to her feet, looking down at the ballerina flats that adorned her feet and couldn't help but smile in gratitude. If she ever got out of this, she was going to come back and give the owner of the flats a huge fruit basket.

Michaela walked back towards the bank of elevators, having remembered that past them there was a hallway she could explore to see where it took her. Her feet squeaked against the marble but other then that, the immense room was eerily quiet, with a low hum echoing in the top corners which she assumed to be the heating system. Swallowing, Michaela crossed her arms over her stomach and held herself, not only for warmth, but because suddenly her stomach was beginning to get upset.

She closed her eyes in exasperation. Of all things in that fridge upstairs, she had to wolf down the potato salad, _potato salad_, the easiest of all foods to go _bad_ in no time at all. Although, she had to admit to herself, throwing up the food she had been so grateful to find and to have would have been only too fitting for how the rest of the night was going.

Anxious to push it out of her mind, Michaela continued away from the bank of elevators into a luxurious marbled hallway that came to another extravagant fountain and then broke off into two hallways, leading left and right, and from what Michaela could see, they didn't look particularly different, so she decided to drift to the right. All the lights were turned on and created an elegant yet strange feeling in her as she walked down the hall.

Much to her surprise, as she came to the end of the hallway, Michaela discovered the marble wall to her left disappeared and in its place was glass. A half-hearted chuckle left her throat as she stopped and looked in at a very big and very expensive looking weight room, the gym of Wayne Tower. From what she could see, there were all manner of machinery and exercise equipment there for anyone's disposal, and since the room was only half-lit, she couldn't see the full extent of it. From what she could see, though, it was any active person's wet dream.

Maybe when all was said and done, and after this whole thing was over, Michaela could apply for a job there, at Wayne Tower. It would certainly be an interesting thing to tell her interviewer: _So, Michaela, why do you want to join the Wayne team? Well, when the Joker took me hostage and held me here, I got away and saw your gym. I gotta say, it was love at first sight._

Michaela laughed a little to herself, and moving down along the glass she walked towards the nearest door. Although it didn't lead directly into the weight room, she figured maybe it would _eventually _lead into the weight room, and she could make her way through. The best thing she could do at that point, she decided, was to keep on moving until she found a way out.

And just in time; as Michaela's fingers brushed the knob to the door, she heard the faint, yet definite sound, of the elevator chime down the hall behind her.

/

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry this chapter's so short, but I promise there will be plenty of action in the next one. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I'M SORRY! :(

Very special thanks to **Katie, BigFan, eye of the divine, crazyinabottle, anna, Moka-girl, Cleonie Quinn, Mirror23Rose, GadgetCid, EmmalineGrey, Detective Huckle, Katherine Sparrow, linnie kinda spinnie, wolflover72335, Lorien Urbani, Whitney, Me, fight-before-flight,** **Saxonbandwagon, RandomCitizen, Ravenclaw992, Snowfire, Guest, **and **cypris88.**

Just so you guys know, this chapter is mostly filler, and feels pretty uninspired to me. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless; just know that things will pick up from here.

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Eleven**

**/**

Michaela heard the footsteps, and with her hand gripping the doorknob, she whipped her head in the direction of the hallway she'd just walked down, towards the elevators. She could hear deep voices, the sounds of men, and even though they were a ways away from her, she could hear their footsteps echoing down the marble hallway to meet her ears, and her heart began to thunder in her chest. Judging by the footsteps she was hearing, there was at least three of them.

"Keep a look out, boys," came a strong, masculine voice, one that Michaela didn't recognize. "Vance says she's blonde, bleeding, and limping."

Michaela's heart sank into her stomach and she gripped the doorknob even tighter. Part of her mind urged her to get a move on, find someplace to hide, or even better, find someplace to escape, but she was compelled to find out just how many clowns there were looking for her. Were they clowns, even? And if they were, how was it that there was three of them? There had only been two of them upstairs with the Joker. Unless of course...

"Pfft, duh." Replied a second voice, rather indignantly, and Michaela didn't recognize his voice at all. They were a whole new set of clowns! "Who else does he think we're looking for?"

"Just find her," snarled the first clown. "Boss is in a bad enough mood as it is, don't make it worse."

"You just said she was limping," the second clown argued. "How far could she go?"

"Just shut up and start looking," That was a third voice, angrier and deeper than the other two, and it made Michaela shiver. "Check that hallway down there."

Footsteps started down the hallway, and snapping herself back to reality, Michaela turned to the door and twisted the doorknob her hand was locked around. To her surprise, and perpetual relief, it gave and the door opened without a sound. Michaela slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind her, and twisting the doorknob to make sure it didn't click. The sound of footsteps disappeared behind the door, and she leaned back against it, her breath escaping her lips in a frightened shudder, and she took a moment to gauge where she was and where to go.

It appeared to be the reception area for the gym; there was a desk with its back against glass looking into the gym. A leather couch sat against the far wall accompanied by a coffee table littered with magazines, and off in the back was a glowing, humming vending machine offering water and energy drinks. Directly ahead of her were the two different hallways leading to the men and the women's change rooms. She didn't hesitate.

She didn't know what compelled her to believe there would be an exit in the gym, but she went into the women's change room and turned on the light, redirecting herself around a long line of sinks and mirrors, back towards the change rooms and the lockers, past the showers, towards the doorway that led out into the gym.

Abruptly, before launching herself into the partially lit weight-lifting room, she stopped herself, remembering the wall of glass against the far end, looking out into the hallway in the foyer, and leaned heavily against the wall, slowly peering around the corner to glimpse into the empty room.

Her instincts had proven correct; across the room, behind the wall of glass, she caught sight of a clown mask and retracted behind the corner, holding her breath as though they were there in the room with her. Her heart was thundering against her chest and the blood pounded in her ears, but she listened carefully for any sounds the clown might make, but all was silent.

She took in slow, deep breaths through her nostrils and closed her eyes, focusing on what to do and where to go. She figured there had to have been a maintenance closet, or a break room for employees, somewhere, some room with a window she could try to wiggle out of. It would just take patience, but she had to be quick about it: the Joker knew she was on the main floor and there were at least three clowns combing for her. If nothing else, she figured she could find a closet and lock herself inside for the remainder of the night.

Waiting another moment, and listening intently, she sucked in a breath and peered around the corner once more, looking for the clown mask she had seen previously. The hallway on the other side of the glass was empty, and, slowly gaining more confidence, Michaela rounded the corner, looking from side to side of the empty hallway, looking at the door to see if the clown had gone through, but it appear undisturbed. Swallowing thickly, she felt it was safe to emerge from the doorway.

She maneuvered herself quickly between the biggest pieces of equipment, trying to stay hidden from the glass wall even as she was fairly sure there wasn't a clown behind it looking in at her. Quick glances over her shoulder confirmed these thoughts. Quicker and quicker she darted towards the back of the room, where the wall was covered in mirrors; she could see a water cooler sitting against the mirrored wall, and further down, the biggest pieces of equipment, and what she'd been looking for: **Employees Only.**

She darted for the doorknob, twisting it anxiously only to find it was locked, but she had come too far to get locked out of a potential escape route. Taking note of the flimsy doorknob, and trying to keep mind of how much noise she was making, she rounded her shoulder and slammed it against the door, clutching at the doorknob as she did. Pain coursed through her shoulder at the impact, making her wince a little, but she did it again, and still the door wouldn't give. Heaving a little, scowling, annoyed that her path was so tediously blocked _yet again_, Michaela stepped back, clutching at her shoulder which was beginning to throb, and with all her might she slammed her foot into the wood next to the knob.

The door rattled in its frame and gave in the slightest, and she was too focused on that to take note of how much noise it was making. Squaring herself off against the door, she took a step back and kicked at it again and again. The wood seemed to shudder a little under the force of her kick, but it didn't budge. Michaela stopped for a moment, catching her breath, cursing herself for leaving her purse upstairs. _I had a nail file in that purse, goddamn it._

Closing her eyes, and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her shoulder, she tried to gauge what to do. She had to get through the door, she _had to; _she didn't know why, but something was telling her that some sort of escape sat there behind the door. She sucked in a breath and tried to think.

And then, it just came to her. It was a _weight room, _surely there was a dumbbell or something around that she could use to break down the door...as quietly as humanly possible, of course.

Sighing heavily in aggravation as well as sheer exhaustion and now pain, she pressed her hand against her shoulder to try to dull the throbbing pain and went to the water cooler, deciding that while it wasn't the best time, she didn't know when she'd come across cool, clean drinking water that didn't come from a faucet. Tiredly, she took a paper cone, filled it, and sipped eagerly until it was empty.

The dumbbells were sitting against one of the walls to her left, so she slowly made her way around the equipment towards them.

She picked up the 20 pound dumbbell with both hands, since she was feeling so tired and weak that she was at risk of dropping it. She carried it over to the **Employees Only **door and thought about how exactly she was going to break the door down without making too much noise. Perhaps if she concentrated on breaking the doorknob...

Holding the dumbbell up with both hands, and taking another glance towards the glass wall to make sure the coast was clear, she held the dumbbell up, concentrated her gaze squarely on the doorknob, and brought the dumbbell down with all her might.

The doorknob _clanged_, and she stopped to listen to make sure it hadn't drawn any attention, but all that met her ears was silence, and so she lifted the dumbbell and tried it again, bringing the weight down on the doorknob, and once again it _clanged. _The third time, disregarding the noise she was making, she brought the dumbbell down, hard, and the doorknob gave way.

She stared at it for a few moments before dropping the dumbbell unceremoniously to the ground and pushing the door open. Overcome with urgency, she turned on the light and took in the sight of a tiny, uninspired maintenance closet. Brooms, buckets, extra towels, extra straps, extra this, extra that-

And a _window_...with a metal barricade.

Michaela frowned as she looked at it, at the lock that held it securely in place. _What the fuck_...why would a maintenance closet have a window with a barricade over it? How did that make any sense at all?

She moved towards it to test the barricade in case it gave way and groaned loudly when it didn't. It was beginning to seem as though every force in the universe was keeping her inside that building, keeping her from her escape. How, how could she break the lock on the barricade? Breaking the window and getting out would have been simple enough, but how to get the barricade off?

She looked towards the weight room, figuring she could throw something heavy against it that might pull the barricade off its haunches. What she would have given for a screwdriver, or a Swiss army knife.

That was when she noticed a pair of scissors sitting on one of the shelves. She didn't know what they would possibly need scissors for...until she noticed the box of extra paper cones for the water cooler that the scissors were sitting on top of.

Frantically she turned back to the window, to the barricade, and tried the end of the scissors on the screws that held it in place. She knew it wouldn't work, but she also knew she had to try. But when the scissors gave, and Michaela came dangerously close to breaking down and sobbing, she pulled herself away and looked at the barricade miserably. And hatefully.

She was going to be sick again. Nothing was working, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. It was as if the Joker had foreseen her timely escape and managed to make everything in her path just as difficult to undo and escape out of. First the glass lobby covered with plastic explosives, then the clowns scouring the main floor-

Michaela suddenly jumped to attention, and looked over her shoulder at the door. If she closed it...if she closed it and kept very silent, and didn't say a word or move a muscle or do anything...was it possible that the clowns would overlook it? That they wouldn't think to look inside a maintenance closet?

It seemed like the only thing she could do. She went towards the door, reaching for the doorknob that hung there like a dead thing, and was about to pull it closed when she looked up.

Face to face with a clown.

She gasped, and the clown paused at the shock of seeing her, and after a split second, he fumbled with the gun in his arms, rose it up and pointed it at her.

"Don't move!" he demanded, taking a step towards her, making her flinch. "Lemme see those hands! Hands up!"

Swallowing, Michaela slowly rose her hands, annoyed that she didn't have a pocket in which to hide the stolen scissors from the closet. She kept her eyes on the clown; if he looked away for a second, if only for a _second_-

"Drop the scissors!" the clown demanded furiously, motioning to her right hand with the gun, and his abruptness made her jump a little. She was torn in that moment; the thought of letting go of the one thing that even came close to resembling a weapon in a tower full of men with rifles was more than upsetting.

"I said _drop em!_" The clown shouted, startling Michaela, and so slowly she uncurled her fingers, depressed that she was letting go of a legitimate weapon, and closed her eyes with great disappointment as the scissors fell and clattered on the floor.

With the scissors out of her hand, the clown launched towards her, and once again she flinched, fighting the urge to sprint around him, hurdle over the exercise equipment and make a break for the locker room. But his gloved hand locked like a handcuff around her forearm and he wrenched her forward, and she toppled towards him, nearly losing her footing.

"Don't try anythin' funny," the clown snarled as he spun her around and marched her in front of him, keeping the gun at the small of her back. "Just walk, through the locker room!"

Michaela kept her hands up above her shoulders where the clown could see them; her heart thundered against her chest every time she felt the tip of the gun poke her and she was resolved not to make any sudden moves that might inspire the clown to get rid of her once and for all.

As they progressed slowly into the locker room, Michaela careful to keep her footing and hold her hands up, she heard the clown behind her wrestle with something in the folds of his clothes. Before they had passed the bank of stainless steel showers, she heard him speak into what had to have been a cellphone.

"Bobo here, yeah, I got her, she was in the..." the clown trailed out, and Michaela snapped to attention, listening attentively as the clown stuttered a little. "Yeah, okay boss, yeah we're headed back up right now..."

Her heart sank when she realized he had to have been on the phone that moment with the Joker. The prospect of escaping the Joker and now having to face him once more...oh god, after she'd cut his _face_-

"Uh huh, sure thing, boss," the clown ended the conversation with what sounded like a bit of initiative, and Michaela felt her fingers begin to shake the way they did when she got really cold. "Boss says he's got something for ya upstairs, so I wouldn't be tryin' nothin'!"

There was something in his voice, like a wicked piece of glee, definite malice. Michaela swallowed tightly, fighting to urge to bite back something over her shoulder at the prick; truthfully at the moment nothing came to mind other than the fact that the Joker was going to _kill _her. If the clown didn't kill her there in that locker room, then the Joker would.

They were moving in towards the sinks, and Michaela started to breathe heavily when she saw the door. If she went past that door, it was past the point of no return. If she went through that door, she was going to _die_.

She couldn't go upstairs again. She'd come so far, she'd _escaped_. She wouldn't go back up to him, no way, _no __**way**__._

Her impending doom had been hovering over her head the entire night like a black raincloud. What did she have to lose?

Sucking in desperate breaths, and closing her eyes for seconds at a time to open them and look at the door, Michaela slowed her footing, made her breathing heavy, and began to falter at the knee.

She heard the clown growl behind her as he prodded her the gun. "Hey, what'd I just say? Don't be tryin' nothin' funny, now!"

Swallowing her last bit of fear, she pretended to swoon and went down on one knee, pretending to catch herself before falling completely to the floor. She heard the clown's exasperated growl overtop of her and felt his right hand grab her right shoulder roughly. "Don't bullshit me, get the hell up!"

Michaela waited, and waited, until he was right overtop of her, his fingers biting into her shoulder making her wince, but she only waited a single moment more and then-

Mustering all the strength she had into her left arm, she rose up on her leg and jabbed her elbow behind her with all the strength she had in her. Her stomach gave a funny jolt when she felt it collide with what was probably the clown's exposed throat.

The gun clattered noisily and discharged, an explosive _BANG _that made Michaela shriek and crumble to the floor, covering her head. She heard the bullet hit the wall and then collide with something, she wasn't sure what. All she knew was that in the next few seconds, an alarm sprang to life all around them, and the sprinklers began to shower down on her.

Michaela looked up, surprised by the activation of the sprinklers, but noticing how the clown was suddenly recovering from her first strike against him forced her into action. Standing, losing the grip of her footing because of the ballet flats on the wet floor, she shoved the clown away from her, hoping he would lose his footing, but instead he pushed his weight forward on his feet and reached his hand out to her. Michaela jumped back, and the small of her back collided sharply against one of the sinks, making her cry out, and then the clown was on top of her, taking hold of her shoulder and arm and throwing her against the wall. Michaela managed to plant her hands against the wall and catch herself, but then the clown's hands were on her again, and he snarled in his throat as he threw her once more towards the sinks.

Michaela gasped, holding her hands out to catch herself, one hand gripping for the sink and the other colliding harshly with the corner of the mirror, breaking it. Michaela cried out as she pulled back her hand. Her other hand slipped against the sink, and her footing was lost on the slippery floor, and before she could gain her footing back, she felt the back of her head collide with something hard -the neighbouring sink, she figured- and her vision began to blur.

/

She didn't know how long she'd been out. All she knew was that her clothes and hair were soaked, her hand throbbed, her head throbbed, and the goon and his gun were nowhere to be seen.

Michaela listened to the rushing sound of the sprinklers before blinking several times and easing herself up into a sitting position. She looked down at her hand, bleeding and cut, and she looked up at the sprinklers as they rained down on her. Where was the clown? Why had he left her?

Michaela gripped the sink she was lying under as best she could with both hands and eased herself up onto her shaky feet. Her mind screamed at her to get a move on, go back to the weight room, _hide_, because it was only inevitable that the whole lot of them would show up any minute and drag her back upstairs to await her fate at the hands of the Joker.

But somehow it didn't seem to register to her. As the water from the sprinklers continued to rain down on her, she looked down at her bleeding hand, and then looked at the sink that she clutched to. Swallowing tightly, with her good hand, shaking, she turned on the faucet.

Her hand trembling, she gripped her wrist with her free hand and gently guided it under the pouring water. It stung like hell, and she clenched her eyes closed to bear the pain, but the blood began to wash away and circle the basin. She desperately hoped there wasn't little pieces of glass wedged in the wound itself; wouldn't that be a joy, digging at them and picking them out one by one, while the clown's mass force of masked idiots were scrambling the building looking for her?

As she held her hand under the water, and listened to the sounds of the sprinklers all around her, she quickly surveyed the white walls surrounding her. Swallowing tightly, she looked down at her hand and pulled it away from the water, watching as the blood slowly began to seep and then lessen. After a moment, when her hand seemed clean of blood, she withdrew it from the water, numb and red, and cradled it against her chest. When she looked up at herself in the mirror over the sink, she scowled, and had the utmost urge to throw her fist right into that mirror and shatter it into a million tiny pieces.

Michaela felt like howling, like letting out a thunderous, furious, pain-stricken, frustrated howl that would send waves through the falling water and shake the air of the Wayne Tower. Like a lion's roar, she wanted to make a noise that was a sure sign of trouble for all nearby enemies, a warning for them to get the hell outta Dodge, to pick themselves up and relocate with their tails hanging between their legs. She had _never _felt so angry as she did at that very moment, and she wanted the world to know.

With the rush of the water the only thing to meet her ears, Michaela stepped back until her back met the tiled wall, closing her eyes as water ran like rivers down along her face, making her clothes feel heavy on her beaten, broken form. Cradling her useless hand against her chest, she allowed the wetness of her clothes and the slickness of the tiled wall to guide her gently down to the floor, kicking her feet out in front of her, and just for one moment, _collapsing _from sheer exhaustion and agony.

Breathing hard, she stared ahead of her at the mirrors over the sinks, specifically at the one that she'd been thrown against, the one with ripples in the corner. She shook her head painfully, and then looked down at her badly cut hand. From where she sat, it didn't look so bad; she knew it was still bleeding a little, but the downpour diluted the blood and made it look much better than it really was. For a moment she wanted to laugh to herself. And she did.

Tilting her head back against the tile, her lips pulled into a smile and she laughed a little, but not very convincingly. Shaking her head slowly from side to side, she chuckled, as though she couldn't believe it. Every possible thing that _could_ go wrong _had_ gone wrong and here there was no end in sight.

Water splashed against her eyes and Michaela closed them, enjoying the water on her face; it soothed the burn of tears rather nicely.

_What have I ever done to anyone?_

Through the sound of the rushing water landing on the floor, Michaela lifted her head and turned to look. She'd heard the door to the bathroom open, but all she saw through the curtain of water and the tears in her eyes was a blurred flash of _**purple**_.

/


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I'm sorry I haven't responded to you guys personally, but I'm so thankful for your wonderful patience and feedback. Thank you **Cleonie 'Jayne Mansfield' Quin, linalove, Guest, Dissolved Starr, Mirror23Rose, Ravenclaw992, Lorien Urbani, RandomCitizen, Zeny, SaxonBandwagon, SnailsAndPuppyDogTails, honeybeeze, Lady-night-shade04, walawalabadkoala, SuzukaKimmiko, Crazyinabottle, anon it, linnie kinda spinnie, KorroksApostle, corbsxx, cypris88, Keelia, itspeanutbutterjellytimex3, anonymous, TinkerbellxO, Lisa, eloquent dreams, Shakaka, Lauren Kassidy, KrnYong, Amanda, Guest, RachelLynnexx, **and **EM. **

**I need help with this story. **Please consider the author's note at the end of this chapter. That being said, when reading this chapter, try to go _slow_...

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Twelve**

**/**

The morning after they'd had sex for the first time, Michaela was taking a shower in Roger's bathroom when all of a sudden he appeared at the glass door, fully clothed for work, looking gorgeous. She smiled at him, thinking he was just saying goodbye, but without a shred of warning he opened the door, stepped in under the water, and picked her up in his arms. She shrieked when he did it, and protested saying she was wet and slippery, but then Roger kissed her so deeply it felt as though he was going away to war and there was a chance she would never see him again.

His hands gripped her naked flesh securely and he set her back down so her feet touched the tiles, and he pecked her lips several times more before he pulled away. He was soaked right through, and he was late for work, but he just grinned at her and didn't say another word. It was the single most romantic thing that had ever happened to her, and for two years she would delight in telling everyone about that one magical moment when she knew for sure that she was in love with him.

Michaela thought of that moment, sitting there in the bathroom with the fire extinguishers gushing down over her, because they say right before you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

The Joker's hands were on her before she had a chance to react. She could feel the anger in his fingers as they curled and bit into her flesh, making her wince, but she had little time to dwell on it before she was thrown against the wall so violently that she saw stars, and thought for a moment that she was going to black out yet again.

She lost the momentum to stand on her own two feet and felt her body go limp as she began to fall to the floor, but the Joker's hand gripped her shoulder and wrenched her up and pressed her, hard, against the wall. Michaela blinked her eyes rapidly, her vision blurred, and she gasped steadily for breath, realizing he must have winded her. All she could see in her visage was the blurred clown makeup under the spray of water.

His fingers curled into her shoulder with such force that she winced from pain but bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. Squeezing her eyes together, she waited for the next blow. A fist, a knife, the butt of a gun, whatever...she knew it was coming.

But she waited, and all she could hear was the hiss of the water escaping the sprinklers. She couldn't hear him breathing; if he hadn't had his hand on her, she might not have known he was there at all. When at last she opened her eyes, and her vision slowly began to correct itself, she looked upon the Joker, at his hair soaked through and hanging down in ropes, at the makeup on his face that was beginning to run.

He was hesitating. Why?

Then, with a sudden growl in his throat, and with strength unlike anything she felt before, he pulled her away from the wall and marched her towards the locker room's entrance. Her breath grew heavy with fear when she realized that he was marching her back in the direction of the lobby, inevitably back towards the elevators. Back upstairs where he would surely lock her in an office and kill her slowly, just as he planned before, only this time he would be sure to make it extra painful. She had drawn his blood, after all; it seemed only too likely that he would take his sweet time drawing every last drop of hers.

The Joker was a titan of strength at her shoulder, marching her forward through the gym's reception area and out into the hallway with the glass wall. Michaela's wet feet slipped and fumbled on the marble floor, but she willed herself to stay up. If she toppled down, who knew what he would do then.

The masked clowns were all waiting with their guns in tow when they rounded the corner towards the bank of elevators. Even with their masks, Michaela could sense the look of alarm on each of their faces, a look of _oh shit, she's gonna get it now. _

The Joker pressed her against the wall as he thumbed the UP button on the elevator, and it wasn't long until it dinged and the elevator doors slid open. The Joker pulled her away from the wall and she watched the clowns gather together as though waiting to accompany her in the elevator.

But the Joker held out his free hand to them.

"At tah tah, boys, you catch the next one," he said in a dangerous low voice.

The Joker wrenched Michaela forward and literally threw her into the elevator; she planted her hands against the wall of the elevator, stopping herself from smashing directly into it, and slid down onto her knees pathetically. She didn't have the energy to hold herself up. The Joker stepped into the elevator, with the other clowns looking in on him. "Mi-kay-lah and I need to have a _chat_."

He slammed his fist against the button, and Michaela squeezed her eyes closed as she listened to the doors close. She was alone with him once again.

Michaela felt the elevator ascend and she felt sick to her stomach. She hurt everywhere, and the motion wasn't helping her headache. She hoped to hell she didn't have a concussion; who knew when she'd be able to get treatment, if ever.

She could feel the Joker's animosity there, in that small confined space they were trapped together in. He was silent; he didn't even seem to be breathing. With some difficulty, Michaela struggled to sit down and pressed herself into the corner of the elevator, bringing her knees to her chest and hiding her face in her kneecaps. She hurt, she was exhausted, and she was going to die in that tower.

And then the Joker began to chuckle, low and malicious, and Michaela rose her head and pressed it back against the elevator wall, watching the Joker's shoulders move as he chuckled. She shook her head slowly. _What a madman..._

It was then she noticed that he wasn't wearing his jacket. The purple vest he wore was almost black as it was soaked with water, and the purple collared shirt he wore underneath was nearly transparent, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so she could see the veins in his toned forearms, his hands balling into fists and then flexing under his gloves.

Michaela swallowed and closed her eyes once again, listening to him chuckle. It seemed like he didn't know what else to do right at that moment, except laugh. Laugh at what? Her audacity? The sheer _gall _she had in cutting his face and running away?

And then, without warning, he slammed his fist against the Emergency Stop button, and Michaela gasped as the elevator lurched in its ascent and stopped abruptly. She pressed her hands against the walls, steadying herself, her stomach protesting. She was sure she was going to be very sick.

Then, before she had a chance to react, or ready herself, or do anything really, the Joker turned on her, and both his hands gripped her and pulled her to her feet. Before she could ready herself, she was slammed hard against the elevator wall and she let out a shriek of pain as her head collided with the wall once again.

She bowed her head, gasping for air, and she could feel the Joker's hot breath fall down over her face, just above her. He was quietly heaving, and his hands on her were hard and angry, and she was forced to do nothing but listen as an amused sound escaped his throat.

"I can't tell you..." he growled in the air between them. "Just how _much _I'm enjoying our little _game_..."

Michaela's heart dropped into her stomach as she cowered under the sheer force and malice in his voice.

"But..." he continued, lowly, his hands tightening on her. "Of _all _the _**nights **_to play this game, it had to be _this _one..."

She could smell the sickly scent of the greasepaint and it clogged her nostrils, making her want to gag. She had the utmost urge to plant her palms flat against his chest and push him away from her with all her force, but she could only imagine how well that would go over, especially being in the small space they were. She was already perfectly aware that he had no hesitation in hurting her; in that elevator he could have literally bounced her off the walls.

"Because, you see..." she could hear the sick, wet sound of his tongue lapping against his scars, and it churned her stomach. "Despite his, uh..._tardiness_, I am still expecting the Batman to come pay us a visit. So...this is what we're gonna _do_..."

Michaela waited, her chest heaving and her heart pounding. With her head bowed, she watched as he released her shoulder with his right hand and reached into one of his vest pockets. Her terror spiked then; she knew what he was reaching for, and in a fit of her terror she made to dash away from him, just get to the other side of the elevator, put some distance between them.

He thwarted her pathetic escape attempt by abandoning whatever he was reaching for in his pocket and, once again taking hold of both shoulders, slammed her against the wall once more, despite her cry of pain and protest, to get her to hold still.

And then, he did something she truly wasn't expecting at _all_.

Moving forward, nearly closing the space between their bodies, he positioned himself to wedge his knee between her thighs.

Michaela froze, and in another frenzy of terror she lashed out against him, clawing at the arms that held her in place, trying to push him away. Her matted hair flew this way and that, marring her line of sight, but she already knew the resistance was futile. Anything he wanted to do to her in that elevator was going to happen, never mind her weak attempts to keep it from happening.

She just didn't think it would be _that_.

Then, suddenly, the Joker's fingers latched themselves on the inside of her cardigan and with seemingly no strength at all, tore it away over her shoulder and arm, so that the strap of her black camisole, as well as the pink strap of her bra, were suddenly visible. Michaela let out a pathetic sound of protest, not realizing that tears had clouded her eyes and slipped down the apples of her cheeks. She sobbed, with his face just inches above hers, as he _gently _pushed both straps over her shoulder and down her arm, giving him a pristine view of her collarbone and shoulder.

Michaela felt herself go limp, despite the fact she knew she should be fighting him off. But in some respects, she knew it wouldn't be worth it. He'd done so many evil things to her that night, it seemed only too fitting that he would sexually assault her as well, make her feel the ultimate violation and humiliation, before killing her in whatever foul manner he chose. After all, she had humiliated him by cutting his face and making a getaway, seemed he would be only too eager to return the favour.

With their bodies so close, _so close_, and Michaela crying pitifully, she once again watched as the Joker pulled his right hand away from her, and in her grief she closed her eyes, expecting to hear his belt being unfastened. But the more she waited, she didn't hear anything, and when she opened her eyes, his hand was inside his vest, and what he pulled forth was a small, delicate blade not much bigger than a scalpel.

Before she had a chance to scream or struggle or do anything, the Joker gripped the blade in his right hand and plunged it directly into the skin beneath her collarbone.

Arching her body against him, throwing her head back, squeezing her eyes closed, Michaela let out a scream so loud and profound that it almost seemed as though no sound escaped her throat at all.

She felt the fingers of the Joker's free hand twist in the folds of her clothes of her other shoulder, as if trying to give himself leverage, keeping her pressed firmly against the wall. With that he closed the gap between their bodies, so that he was damn near flush up against her, and she clenched her legs against his knee and lashed out and gripped her hands in the folds of his shirt, not to push him away, but to alleviate the searing white-hot pain from the blade.

The Joker breathed so heavily, his hot breath escaping him in short bursts, and she could feel each one of them tumbling over her face, and when he slowly began to drag the blade across her skin in a jagged horizontal line, Michaela let out another scream of pain, and suddenly felt the pressure of his forehead pressed against hers.

_That _made her want to kill him. It was a gesture of such closeness and intimacy, something she only associated with lovers, something Roger did once or twice after they'd had a heated argument, pressed his forehead against hers and told her he loved her, no matter what happened...such memories of gentle happiness and forgiveness _gone _and _tarnished _by having this madman do the same as though they were merely resolving a lover's spat.

And yet...she didn't have the energy or frame of mind to push him away. She simply stood there, limp against the elevator wall, her eyes closed, her chest heaving, with a blade stuck in her shoulder and the Joker's forehead pressed against hers.

She knew he was swallowing up every sound of pain that left her, every feeling of anguish and turmoil that she felt he could feel through this intimate contact. _That _was what was giving him pleasure, and it made her absolutely sick to her stomach.

After a moment where her screaming had subsided and all that was heard in the enclosed space was her pathetic sniffling, the Joker withdrew the blade, earning a hiss of pain, and then slowly, _slowly _dragged the blade down vertically and ended it with half a loop. Michaela shook from screaming so violently and mere inches away from her face, the Joker let out a growl of pleasure from his throat.

And then it seemed to be over.

Michaela's eyes were twisted closed so she could only hear the clatter of the blade being dropped to the floor. She could feel the blood seeping from her wound down over the gentle mound of her breast. Her fingers ached from being so twisted in the fabric of his shirt, and her thighs were sore from squeezing his knee.

With his hand squeezing her shoulder painfully, and his forehead pressed against hers, and his chest barely touching hers, and his knee forced between her legs, and the panting from both their heaving chests in the air between them...anyone to behold them might have thought they were quarreling lovers engaged in a steamy make-up session, minus the blood and the blade. Michaela barely had any energy left when she felt the Joker's free hand glide up over her side and slip behind her, his palm pressing against her back, nearly bringing her flush against his body.

And she knew why he did it. For as soon as he stole his knee back from between her legs, her body began to tumble, and another surge of horror passed through her when he squared his hips against hers and she felt the all-too familiar hardness of an erection through his trousers brush against her.

And whether she willed it so, or it just happened, everything went black.

**/**

**A/N: **I have had the worst writer's block that I can remember for months; I _really _wantto finish this story, but the direction I wanted to take it in just feels so flat and uninteresting, not to mention it doesn't fit with the Nolan trilogy. I'm thinking that a change in direction might help matters, but given the writer's block, I'm at a bit of a loss as to where to go. I can't stress this enough - **I need help. **If any of you have any ideas, _any ideas at all_, **please PM me**, even if it's just a flitting thought. I will gladly credit you for your ideas if we begin a correspondence and mutually agree to use any ideas discussed.

With that, I hope you enjoyed this past chapter. It was a tough one.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **First off I just have to say how happy and touched I was that so many of you replied to my plea for help with this story. I was so delighted to hear from you and hear your ideas, and though only some have been used, all of them were greatly appreciated. Thank you so much, you guys. :)

This chapter is dedicated to the very wonderful **linnie kinda spinnie**, who provided most of the awesome ideas for this chapter. Thank you **linnie! **:D

I wasn't able to respond to your reviews this time around, but I will try never to let it happen again! Thank you so very much for your reviews **xmudblood**, **Cleonie 'Jayne Mansfield' Quin, SnailsAndPuppyDogTails, linalove, RandomCitizen, aliceW, Ravenclaw992, rosalind-celeste, evermore276, crazyinabottle, cypris88, Nancy Chavez, linnie kinda spinnie, SaxonBandwagon, Guest, KorroksApostle, Mirror23Rose, Stankk, Guest, InTheShadowOfSignificance, Poozie, Ester, ZenyZootSuit, hii, prosto666, SurryIda, Guest, xXxSaiyanPrincessxXx, JoJo1812, Anastasia Beck, Remy Alvera, GottaGetBackUp, Guest, Bubbles227, ShipsThatFly, tinkerbell9211, Guest,** **Emma **and **My Fav Story.**

* * *

**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**/**

Something woke Michaela, jolted her out of a deep, unrestful sleep, and before she even opened her eyes, she had a feeling she knew what it was.

She was lying on a flat hard surface and she was cold - freezing, in fact. When she opened her eyes, she was in a dark room, the only light was artificial, pouring in through the picture window on the wall to the right. She didn't have to turn her head to know that it was light from a neighbouring office building. She let her fingertips gently graze the surface she was lying on; it was cool and smooth. Wood, she guessed. A desk, she figured, in an office, and for a moment she wondered how exactly she'd gotten there...until it came back to her, very slowly, like recalling bits and pieces of a strange dream.

Michaela remembered the way his fingers had been twisted in the fabric of her blouse and pressed against her shoulder, _hard_, so hard it hurt, and there was such strength in that fist, in his very knuckles, and they held her against the wall of the elevator, she remembered that. And she remembered his knee between her thighs and the way she squeezed against it with both her thighs, like some sort of ridiculous effort to get him to draw it back away from her, though he knew she'd need it when she tried to alleviate the pain. She remembered the way her own fingers had curled and twisted and pulled and pushed against him, how under his clothes his body was like rock: unmovable, impenetrable.

And she remembered how close he had been to her in those last few moments before she gave away to the white hot pain in her shoulder and the terror that brushed against her hip as he slowly released her. His face had been so close to hers that she could smell the sickly smell of thickly-applied greasepaint, of hair that hadn't been washed in god knew how long, of a rancid breath fanning between them, and of sweat on his skin, the smell she recognized in Roger from time to time. The smell of a _man. _

But surely this was no _man _she was dealing with.

As Michaela's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she listened and heard the sirens of the police and the firetrucks making their way to the explosion, the source of her abrupt awakening. What was it this time, she wondered. A school? A blood clinic? A nursing home?

She pressed her eyes together tightly as the pain in her shoulder came back to her, beginning at the wound itself and seeping up and over her shoulder, down over her collarbone, up along the curve of her neck. Though she wanted to look at it and assess the damage, it simply couldn't be done. She couldn't lift her head, couldn't turn her neck, couldn't roll onto her side or anything. Though she was freezing and wanted to curl into a fetal position and huddle herself into a ball for warmth, she was exhausted; her body was exhausted. Everything hurt, not just her shoulder; her head was pounding, her hand was aching, and her toes were almost numb...

Numb...

Michaela wiggled her toes, freely, without the restriction of stockings or the ballet flats she'd found. She opened her eyes as a horrible feeling seeped over her.

She was cold because her clothes had been removed.

Gasping, Michaela jolted upright into a sitting position, letting out a scream as the wound in her shoulder burned. But she found to her horror that she was right; her eyes widened as she looked down over her body and found she was adorned only in her pink panties and matching bra.

"Oh my god..." she breathed in disbelief, tears stinging the back of her eyes, as she swept her hands down over her legs, her taut belly, along her sides, over the swell of her breasts...as if she couldn't quite tell if she was imagining things or if, indeed, she was lying there in her underwear. Her chest heaved as she took in great gasping frightened breaths; if she'd been lying there in her underwear, it meant that someone had taken off her clothes, someone who wasn't her, someone who...who...

Who'd had an erection before she passed out.

Michaela clutched at her stomach as though afraid she was going to be sick. With a bit of effort, she swiveled her legs over the side of the desk and doubled over; if she was going to be sick, she was going to be sick on the floor, not all over her bare legs. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus on the fact that she felt nauseas, _not _on the possibility that she'd been raped. She set her hands on the desk to steady herself and tipped her head, letting the nausea wave over her until it seemed to dissipate, and then she tried to clear her head.

She had blacked out, she didn't remember anything. Surely he could have done..._whatever _while she had blacked out and she wouldn't have come out of it.

But there was a telltale sign missing. She felt pain all over, she did, in her shoulder, her hand, her head...but not _there_.

Swallowing tightly, Michaela rose her head and looked out the window for a moment, into the neighbouring office building which held no comfort or promise. She let the thoughts come and settle in her mind and she gave each and every one of them the consideration they needed. Trying to block out the sirens way off in the background, bouncing off the towers of downtown Gotham, she concentrated on her voice inside her head.

_He had an erection. Surely he would have..._

_But why wasn't there any pain?_

_You woke up in your __**underwear, Michaela**__. _

_But...the sprinklers...clothes were soaked...no point leaving them on..._

Michaela pressed her fingertips to her temples to silence her thoughts and soothe her headache. She took in strong, steady breathes and let them out in relaxed exhales. If she had been raped, there'd be signs, signs she could definitely check for. Leaning over, she looked down at the carpet and then at her toes. She flexed them and wiggled them and kicked her feet a little, before very, very gently letting herself slide off over the side of the desk and set her feet down on the carpet, unsteadily. She leaned back against the desk, clutching it with both hands, and concentrated on what her body was telling her.

Her legs were weak, to be sure, but there was no pain between them. She moved them a little, wondering if the movement might aggravate any damage done, but she felt nothing. The wound on her shoulder burned and she had to keep herself from pressing the heel of her hand right into it, to try to alleviate some of the pain, but that was by far the worst thing that hurt.

There would have been pain if he raped her...there's no way there wouldn't have been. But she didn't know that for sure. Unless he had used something for lubricant, but she didn't feel anything.

Swallowing tightly, Michaela pressed her lips together and let her fingers sweep under the hem of her panties to gently touch herself. She took in a calm breath as she decided, after a moment, that nothing felt out of the ordinary. She wasn't wet, naturally or artificially, and there wasn't pain and she wasn't sore and she didn't seem to be bleeding.

She was so overcome with relief that she didn't hear the snort from the far corner of the room, or the voice that came out of the darkness until it was too late.

"Want some privacy?"

Michaela gasped, too startled to scream, and pulling her hand out of her panties, she collapsed onto her knees and threw herself against the wall, as if it would protect her or, at the very least, shield her semi-nakedness. She pulled her legs up under her chin to hide herself and urgently searched the darkness for the source of the voice, the nausea starting to rise once more.

She heard him giggle over the sounds of her own shaken breaths from the corner and when she looked, she wondered how in the hell she hadn't noticed him sitting there before. He was enclosed almost entirely in darkness; though it wasn't impossible to see him, it would have been easy not to spot him if you weren't looking for him. He was sitting right in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one crossed over the other, while his arms were crossed over his chest. She could see the great big Chelsea smile grinning at her, along with the great big black pits for eyes. The sight of the makeup on his face in the dark was, all in all, nightmarish.

"By all means," he said, still giggling. "Don't let me stop you."

Michaela's jaw shook, from humiliation or anger or pain or cold, she didn't know which. "Where are my clothes?"

She watched him shift his legs; she could hear him smacking his lips in the darkness. "On the chair." he told her, nonchalantly.

"What chair?" she said, her voice shaking.

Michaela could almost feel the look her was surely giving her. "You can't _wear_ them, they're soaked right through, y'know."

She took a moment to look around, but she couldn't see over the desk in front of her, and next to him stood a bookshelf, but no chair. She'd have to move if she wanted to look for them, and she couldn't move right at that moment, she just couldn't. Instead she looked over at him once more, noticing that he was still wearing his clothes, even though they'd been soaked through too. "That's why you took them off me?"

He tsked there in the darkness, as if to say _duh_.

A very awkward tension settled nicely into the air between them right at that moment. Michaela hugged herself to keep from shivering because she knew he could see her, everything she did; the last thing she wanted to do was appear vulnerable, even though she was in her underwear, and freezing, and wounded, and aching all over.

Why was he there? Had he been sitting there in the corner watching the the whole time? How long had she been out? Every question would rush through her head and then churn her stomach.

"Why are you here?" She asked, her voice shaky from fear and the cold. She was at her most vulnerable, she figured; now would be the best time of any to strike against her.

He mused a little. "To make sure you don't go into shock, for one."

She blinked at him. It unnerved her that she couldn't see his eyes at the distance they were at in the darkness; all she could see were two big gasping black pits in his eye sockets, and it scared her even more. She didn't know if he was playing with her or telling her the truth; why would he be so concerned whether or not she went into shock? Unless of course...

"You're not going to...to..."

"What, kill you?" And he laughed as though the idea had never ever crossed his mind, although she was quite confident that it had at some point that night.

Michaela didn't understand. She shifted against the wall into a more comfortable position (or as comfortable as the situation would allow) because she figured there was an explanation coming. As she moved, the wound burned and she hissed, trying to keep herself still so she wouldn't aggravate it. She dared a glance down at it and the sight of it frightened her; it was deep and jagged and looked _so _horrible; she could see it'd been half-assed cleaned up, but it would scar if she didn't have it properly looked at, she knew it, and she also knew there was no way she was going to get it properly looked at anytime soon.

She sighed heavily as she let her head rest against the wall, looking at him across from her. She then looked down at the wound. "What's this for?"

In her head she knew he wouldn't give her a straight answer, but then again maybe he would; he was sitting there, after all. Something was begging to be said.

"What, that?" the Joker pointed at it in the darkness, as if he didn't know full well what she was talking about, and then he shrugged. "Oh, y'know..." he smacked his lips. "Blood for blood."

She didn't understand what he meant exactly until she remembered what she had done to him in the office a mere hour or however long before, when she cut his face with her name tag. That must have been what he meant; she'd drawn his blood, he'd drawn hers.

Michaela pressed her eyes closed, wondering why she had asked him at all. He did it because he could; did he ever have a better reason?

"Please leave," she begged him, her voice barely louder than a whimper, and she heard him shift where he was seated. All she wanted was to be left alone, suffer by herself, try to make sense of everything that had happened in her own time, in the quiet, without his eyes taking in every move she made. When she opened her eyes again, she was startled to see him standing up, staring at her from the corner. "Please."

She heard him chuckle inside his throat, a nasty chuckle that made her want to pull his teeth out, and he took a torturously slow step towards her. "Why, need some time to yourself?"

Michaela glared at him, hating the mocking tone in his voice. She wanted to scream at him, but what good would possibly come of that?

"Need to..." his voice became low and breathy as he took another step towards her. "Take _care _of something?"

She knew what he was referring to by the tone of his voice and it made her stomach jump. Pulling her legs closer to her chest to hide herself from him, Michaela considered making a dash for the door as he came closer to her, but thought against it, remembering her half-nakedness. She stared up at him, relieved and disheartened that she could finally see his eyes in the low light, that she could take in the look on his face and the smile on his lips that somehow, _somehow_ made him resemble something human.

The Joker came to a stop as he towered practically overtop of her, grinning down at her with a great big yellow-toothed smile. She knew he was loving this; he was practically writhing in the discomfort he was causing her. "Sure I can't...give you a _hand_?"

With that, Michaela snapped. "Get out," she growled at him, infuriated and disgusted all at once by his lewd suggestion. Though she knew he only said it to get a rise out of her (and clearly succeeded), she simply couldn't keep down her anger a moment longer. "_**Get out!"**_

The Joker held up his hands and took a step back. "Alright, alright, I'm going."

He was laughing to himself, too, the bastard. Michaela watched him, hatefully, as he rounded the desk and went towards the door. As soon as he settled his hand on the doorknob and twisted it, he looked back at her. "But I wouldn't come out dressed like that."

And then, finally, he was gone.

/

Michaela was alone maybe twenty minutes to a half an hour before she braved the cold and put on her clothes, still damp from the spray. Her skirt was thick and heavy and her blouse and camisole were not only completely ruined (having been ripped on the left shoulder) but a large, grisly blood stain smeared down the one side, reaching almost to her hip. She could only imagine what she looked like in the torn ensemble and the thought of it made her eyes pinch but she took in several gulps of air and tried to toughen up. She slipped on the little ballerina flats she had found and hugged herself for warmth, looking around the office for a serendipitous sweater or spare jacket or coat or anything, but alas, there was none to be seen.

She knew the room was probably being guarded; there were probably clowns stationed outside the door of the office, waiting for her to try to leave so they could call the Joker over to put a stop to it. But she couldn't stay in the office; she felt trapped. At any time he could come waltzing in and do god knows what, god knew what _else. _

Somewhere in the downtown area the police sirens were going crazy; although she knew another venue had been disposed of, she found it difficult to give it too much of her mind at that moment. She was exhausted, and the wound on her shoulder throbbed, no matter how much pressure she applied to it. She needed to survey the damage, clean it up the best she could with what was available; but it meant leaving the office.

Suddenly the Joker's voice rang in her head: _I wouldn't come out dressed like that._

Almost as if he expected her to come out at some point.

Slowly, Michaela padded to the door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear voices of the clowns making conversation, and noise of what sounded like Gotham City News on a TV, as per usual. But no one seemed to be standing directly outside the door.

Looking down at the doorknob, she gripped it with her hand and carefully turned it. It gave way easily enough, and slowly she pushed the door open. No one stopped her, nothing stood between the office and the hallway. Down to her left the hall gave way to a larger conference area set with the television and chairs and a coffee table.

The clowns were standing by the wall while the Joker sat with his back to her, watching the TV as he lounged in one of the leather chairs. The hostages were nowhere to be seen.

Swallowing, she stepped out into the hallway, and without taking notice of what she was doing, let the door open too fast and it creaked.

The clowns both stopped talking and snapped to attention, looking at her through the clown masks, and she froze, staring at them. The one took a step towards her, grabbing his gun at the ready. "Where d'you think you're going?" He spat at her through the mask.

With one hand pressing against the wound and keeping her tattered blouse more or less together so the clowns wouldn't get a glimpse of her bra, Michaela opened her mouth to answer that she was going to find the ladies to at least get a look at the sorry state of the wound that had been inflicted on her.

But, much to her surprise and the surprise of the clowns, the Joker answered for her. "Leave her be."

Michaela gaped, and the clowns both looked at the Joker questionably. "But boss-"

She watched then as the Joker shifted in his seat, looking up at the clowns thoughtfully before turning his gaze towards Michaela. His eyes were bright and playful, and there was a cheerfulness in his tone that she didn't recognize, but it made her want to strangle him and watch the life burn out of his eyes. "She won't go far. Will you, Mi-kay-lah?"

Michaela sneered at him but considered the look he gave her: completely serious, a teasing smile on his mangled lips, not moving a muscle. She frowned; he looked as though he knew something she didn't, completely delighting in an inside joke, and considered her as though she should have known, too.

The wound throbbed, and she winced as pain pulsed up along her shoulder and into her neck. The smile that had threatened the Joker's mangled lips exploded suddenly, telltale, and she stared at him as a very sudden realization poured over her.

The cut wasn't just a cut. It was a mark.

She'd been marked.

That's why he hadn't worried about her escaping him; she couldn't. Even if she survived this shit-show, even if she'd found her way home and the Joker found his way back to Arkham, she would never be free of him. She would carry him with her wherever she went, for as long as she lived.

Her knees buckled and she put her hands out against the wall to break what would have been a nasty fall. Her heart began to pummel against her chest and her breath began to quicken, but she willed herself to stay calm. She could feel his black eyes watching her, she could feel that smile crawling over her skin, slicked with greasepaint, as if she were completely exposed to him, as though she had nothing she could hide from him.

She swallowed the scream that was rising in her throat. She closed her eyes to deter the tears pricking behind her eyes. She took slow, steady breaths to fight off the panic attack she knew was coming.

If it was seen...if she survived and the mark was seen, everyone would know. Everyone would know who did it, and they wouldn't listen to her explanations; they'd draw their own conclusions.

And Roger...if Roger ever saw it...

Michaela twisted her body away so she wouldn't face the Joker, so that he couldn't see the tears pouring down over her cheeks. No wonder he hadn't been concerned about her escaping. There was no escaping.

She'd never escape him again.

/


End file.
